Second to the Right (Book Preview)
by Epic0n
Summary: Some things never change. Some cities never die and some children never grow up. This is the origin story of the most famous eternal child in history. Find out how it happened here!
1. Chapter 1

On that brisk Saturday, the leaves erupted in a slow pace from the trees, covered in raindrops like glittering stones on silver bark. The London fog drifted through the cobbled streets, blocking the skyline.

Green grass and grey stones coloured the playground square, surrounded on three sides by railings that scratched the heavens. Those fence bars intersected at various places on the fence, giving the outside world a chaotic pattern of black stripes.

To those outside the orphanage, it looked like a prison. To the orphans of St. Augustine's at Carmelite House, they saw their bleak playground as a refuge, even as a paradise.

The moment the bell for break rang, all of the young boys rushed out to enjoy a few measly minutes away from their forced labour. They even settled with half-filled balls and short sticks for games of cricket and violent games of rugby.

None of the boys cared to look beyond the bars- except him.

David gripped the cold fence like a prisoner. Carridges and motorized Wolseleys rumbled by, as men in dark trenchcoats and women with carriages strode past his peripherals.

Some of them slowed to stare at his pale, freckled face like a window display, but never stopped to hear him. He knew living behind bars meant just casual glances from those outside.

Yet he kept looking, regardless of the stares. Maybe, just maybe, he would find his new family walking down the street and join them, even to climb the fence. He always dreamed of what they looked like. David always envisioned where they would live; an exotic beach with sand as warm as a cloudless sky, with places to run, trees to climb and the safe embrace of a mother's arms as he drew pictures with the clouds.

Maybe the outsiders thought he deserved to be in the orphanage. They didn't know anything about him, yet he felt them judge. How could they have known he had no choice the moment St. Augustine's took him under their wing?

Maybe the people judging him had become _grown ups._

That new phrase disgusted him, especially after hearing it that day for the first time. Father Kenneth, with his cold eyes and short, narrow beard, addressed them at the first lesson of their Bible study between shifts. He declared their classes as the "first step to becoming what we all truly want to be- good _grown-ups_." Whatever Father had to say, it never crossed well with him, even if he only spoke on Sundays.

David should have learned a lot that day, especially after what the class had been told at the beginning. The teacher blamed it on his daydreams, and punished him for not reciting a passage. Yet those same dreams liberated him from the bleak world around him.

Those stories even enthralled his roommates at night. It warmed up the cold dormitory as he spun a tale about some place they had never seen or heard of before. Places where clouds flew below the ground, where water flowed upwards, where people could fly higher than birds; places where tiny people used prams to get around, or where ravens could talk and pigeons wore little suits and walked with canes and brown top-hats.

That day's dream focused on those automized cars. He watched their clumsy shapes thump across the road, their passengers shake with every uneven bump on the ground. In front of his eyes, they stood on their hind wheels and bounced down the road, their headlights blinking like eyes and their front wheels grip the ground between enormous paws. Massive tails erupted from their tail pipes and big teeth from their grille plates. One of the cars even stopped to nibble on a pasty someone dropped onto the floor.

He giggled as one climbed the building nearby, cracking windows and scaring grown-ups away. The passengers didn't seem to care as their car ascended a nearby tree and honked its horn at other cars. Soon, the exterminator was called about a squirrel infestation and witnessed his own car run away in fear of a neighbor's dog.

Time always flew when he lost himself in daydreams. The end-of-break bell rang him into reality. His hands ached in anticipation as the overseeing adults forced them into lines from youngest to oldest. They marched in tight rows, their hard shoes clomping on the cobblestone floor underneath the arch with angels carved into the sides. He followed his row of workmates until a nun walked straight up to him and tapped him sharply on the shoulder.

"David, please come with me. Father Kenneth wants to see you."

Sister Agnes looked secretively excited. The surrounding boys watched coldly as she jerked him out of line.

_Out of the hundreds of boys here, why me? _

David's mouth became tighter as the nun's chuckles sent shivers down his spine. They silently sped through the corridors, interrupted by shoes slapping the stone floor. She led him to the confessional, on the other side of the campus, past the huge sanctuary.

He heard rumours that Father Kenneth used the confessional booth to scare children into obeying. Blackness covered the front curtain, forbidding even hope from entering. When she opened the confessional, an odour of frankincense and myrrh rose up, burnt his nostrils and itched his eyes to tears. After the curtain closed behind him, a small votive candle stood in the corner of the cramped cubicle. It flickered, and shadows danced across the walls. Through the veiled compartment, he saw a door slide open on the other side of the decorative grating. As the silhouette of a person entered, David immediately bowed in respect. He heard whispers of Latin permeate the other side.

"_In nomine Patris et filii et spiritus sancti... Et expecto resurrectionem mortuorum, Et vitam ventúri sæculi_..."

Father Kenneth droned the rest of the trinitarian formula. David never liked Latin. As soon as he had been able to open his copy of the Lily Grammar, Latin became the language of choice around higher administrating Nuns. Few nuns broke the rules, but never in front of the administrators.

Suddenly the mumbling stopped.

The shadows continued to d e

a c

n

"David, I presume?"

His voice rasped through the child's bones as David's neck hairs shot up.

"Yes, Father."

"I've called you in here about something very important. So important that I needed to tell you in private."

David gulped. "Of course, Father."

He cleared his throat and sealed David's fate.

"I always knew something special about you from the moment you came into our lives. I've been told that you were adopted twice. This is true, yes?"

He ought to have known that it happened _twice_, but said nothing.

"Well, every time you left, you found your way back here. That's how I knew God had a plan for you. As you grow up before our eyes, I've seen you become the man that everyone else wants for you. I can safely say that you'll be able to take my place someday, with proper training. You understand?"

David paused. His eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"I'm to replace you... as the high priest."

Sister Agnes chuckled outside of the booth, low enough for David to hear.

"Correct, my son. As of tomorrow, you will begin training. After which you will be transferred to the proper seminary, then ordained. From there you will return here to replace me when I pass on."

The seconds felt like days as David stared at his torn pants. Tears welled up and turned the whole room a big blob of black and dark red. He couldn't hold back his tongue once Father finished.

"Tomorrow? No- But does that mean I can't be adopted? I can't leave the orphanage?!…Ever?"

After a tiny pause to clear his throat, Father made it clear.

"Yes, David. You will stay here."

Crying wasn't allowed in the booth. Hot tears fell down his cheeks as he rocked himself on the bench, legs wrapped in his thin arms. He would never get that family now, no warm beach, no hugs…

"Your name has already been taken you off of the adoption list. No one else will take you away from what God has intended for you. No evil shall taint your soul."

He mumbled incoherently, urging his mouth to speak, to demand an explanation.

"No more questions, David. I must return to my own business. Sister Agnes will return you to your workstation."

…

Sister Agnes stepped with delight, dragging the boy along. She never once noticed his head bent, his sad eyes staring at the ground.

As he returned to his workplace, the different parts of the toys blended together into messy sculptures. He always thought his family would come back to adopt him, take him into their world and he would make the most of it. But now he could never leave, doomed to become a man like Father Kenneth. Cursed to forever live his nightmare.

…

Sister Deborah stomped through the sunlit halls. Her steps could be heard all the way from the lobby. Sister Agnes told her the "news" about David, her precious David, and she couldn't stand in place. She stormed towards the one person who could decree such a thing. She planned to demand an explanation, then scheme to get David back on the adoption list. She never reached his office that quickly.

She rapped twice on the door before she heard a surprisingly gleeful reply.

"_V__enient__in_."

"Come in."

She forced a calmer smile as she entered.

"Good day, Father."

"What can I do for you…Sister?"

He relished in calling her, or any nun, by their lower rank. She hated the unsubtle contempt for them that he wore around his neck like a gold cross. She closed the door and promptly lowered herself down to the ottoman in front of his desk.

"Well, Father, I heard you have chosen a successor."

He leaned back in his chair, staring up as if contemplating a verse.

"Yes, Sister. I quite have. And you of all the Sisters should be able to understand why."

She shifted in the backless red seat, in a desperate attempt to retain her furious dignity.

"Why what?"

"Why I chose David. Forgive me for not consulting you about my choice."

Sister Deborah sat in silence, looking away from his pale gaze. She had not expected him to apologize; She hoped that he would monologue so when he spoke for too long she could satisfyingly interrupt him.

"Your silence is noted. Thank you for accepting my apology. Now then, off you go."

Her eyes shot back at his reclining figure, small behind the mountain of books on his desk and shrouded by the dim light behind him.

"With all due respect, Father, I didn't come here to forgive you."

"_Oh_?"

His bony hands gripped the armrests, his torso bending forward.

"What _did _you come here for, pray tell?"

Her her leg shook away from his view. She collected her thoughts and resumed the debate.

"I really don't…I don't understand why you selected him."

He took a fast breath through his nostrils. "Well, that's a shame. Everyone else knows. Why don't you run along and ask them?" He lifted his hand and flicked it towards the door.

She tried again, to goad him into the trap. "Father, please explain it to me. I would like to know."

"Alright… Sister. If you must know, then here's why—"

He shifted forward again. "Because he's the one. _The chosen one_. I can feel it."

She needed more of a monologue, so she repeated her question.

"Father, Sir, what on earth are you talking about?"

"I just _know_ it. Like the way God chose Moses, I just know. David is special, Sister."

She couldn't wait any longer. She'd have to spring the verbal trap herself.

"But how can you be so sure? Have you taken advice about _any_ of the other boys?"

"Do you not think that I haven't considered the other orphans?"

"No, not at all, it's just that there are others who are better, more suited to be 'chosen'."

He shifted even further towards the desk, towards her.

"Are you questioning my _judgment_?"

Her heart thundered in her chest. She took quick breaths as courage.

"Well, is it right to keep a good boy from a _family_, Father?"

His anger grew as darkness crept through cracks in the room.

"How dare you—."

She stood up in defiance, heart beating out of her chest.

"He's just a boy, Father! And _you_ are denying what God has offered _him_ on His good green Earth! Do you think he wants to be here, Father? To be your little puppet to serve you after you pass on? That is a cruel, heartless thing to do, and I demand a good reason for it! You and I both know what would happen if you are wrong, and _that_ sin is too great to bear, even for you!"

"Sister-"

"And how can you be so sure? What about the other boys?! Have you seen Julius? He's the first one to offer grace, and he's one of the _older_ boys!"

"SISTER-"

"Or Jonathan, the lead choir boy? Or Maximillian, the star pupil-"

"SISTER! ENOUGH! _SIT DOWN_!"

She stopped in her tracks and gracefully situated herself. Fast breaths ran through her chest as her legs shook. She knew she made a mistake.

"First off, I NEVER SIN. How _dare_ you find fault with me in such a way, as if I am an old fool! You may think you know this boy, but you're just one _stupid _little girl! The rest of us see him as a king waiting to be crowned, as he shall be."

He stood up and approached her chair. Defiance shone in her eyes, madness in his.

"No matter what you can say or do, that boy will stay here. The law shall not stand in the way of G-d's Will, as you foolishly think it will. And I'm never wrong, Sister. Look at where I am and where you are. Don't you remember to honour thy Father…_Sister_?"

Her courage ebbed further as he circled her like a bloodthirsty lion.

"So, should you see him again, I want you to tell him how wonderful it is to be a man of the cloth. Tell him why it is so important to stay here and what demons and dangers exist out there. Or do you want me to remind you of the forgotten corner you came from?"

She never expected him to use her secret as the ultimate blackmail. Her eyes grew wide and wet as she held down a sob.

"Good. Now I must pray for another soul that needs redemption. If I were you, I would watch what I say next time…Sister."

He held open the door and watched her walk away on unsteady legs.


	2. Chapter 2

The day flew by like a painting hastily made and not given time to dry. After his next shift, David asked permission to leave for the toilet, only to go straight to Sister Deborah's office. He always saw her as his mother, even if she didn't hug him as often as a mother would.

_She will be able to sort this out. She will fix things so I don't have to become a priest... I hope._

He knocked lightly on the door.

"Who's out there?"

"David."

"Oh! Well, come in then."

The afternoon light shone on the extra chair and changed Sister Deborah's seated figure into a silhouette bent over paperwork. David silently waited for her to finish as he admired her office once more.

He loved her office. The colours of the wood lit up the ceiling, with a big window behind her covered in plants growing from ceramic pots. Pictures of the Virgin Mary hung on the walls beside a painting of The Serpentine on a warm summer day. She finished not long after he sat down, and looked across at him expectantly from the other side of the desk.

"Hello, David. How are you?" He could tell she flashed her smile with the kiss, the one with the little smirk on the side of her mouth. The window got bright this time of day as the sun took in one last glimpse of London.

"Good, I suppose."

"Good. By the way, a little birdy told me that someone met with the Father this morning," she jovially said as she leaned across the desk.

"Yeah…"

"Well? Aren't you excited for when you get older?"

"Not really."

"Oh, come on David. You'll love it. You'll learn so much."

"But I'm still so far behind."

She paused to give him a sympathetic frown.

"Yes, the things that happen when you lose all of your learning at such a young age." She let her eyes wander in contemplation.

"Sister Deborah, when did I get adopted a second time?"

Her eyes returned to her favourite child. "I never told you?"

"No, you just told me about that one time."

"Oh, well yes," She leaned back, reminiscing when he was just a little boy in her arms as she protested in handing him over.

"You were actually adopted before, when you were much younger."

"How much younger?"

"If I remember correctly, according to the records, you couldn't have been younger than seven days old."

"Seven _days _old?!"

His eyes widened. The sun turned away from the window, revealing the warm red hair that spilled over her coif and her bright green eyes.

"Yes. A nice couple that lived across the river loved you almost instantly. Brought you home with them the same day."

He leaned forward, weighed down with new curiosity.

"Who were they?"

"Oh, I don't remember. We have it in the records somewhere. I think their last name had the word 'Jasper' in there somehow."

"So, what happened? How did I end up back here?"

She returned to reminiscing; how she had found him in the place she discovered him when she originally worked in the night. She had to climb a fence in order to return to it. She remembered going there from St. Augustine's every night since his adoption, hoping he would return. She believed that he was no ordinary child, yet she didn't know how to tell him now.

"Well, one of the nuns took a stroll one night and just found you near Kensington Gardens. The most peculiar thing. I've never heard of a baby leave a crib and travel so far from its house. At seven _days old_, mind you."

She looked back at the child she fell in love with before joining the habit. He never knew how she changed her life for him.

"So, can you convince Father Kenneth that I don't want to be trained?"

Father Kenneth breathed down her neck. She looked away to her paperwork to avoid his face.

"Oh, David. Once he's made up his mind, there's nothing I can do. He has the final word around here."

She saw, out of the corner of her eye, the pain growing on his face. If she saw him, she would cry.

"Will you be able to speak to him?"

"David, you know I can't. Not on such short notice."

The inkwell dropped to the floor as she shuffled through her papers.

He slowly stood up as she added:

"Besides, he'll be out tomorrow morning to speak to a Cardinal."

He hesitated as he turned away to the door.

She looked back at him, her beautiful child, the only family she ever wanted and forever barred from. Tears welled up in her eyes as she drew up the words he stood waiting to hear. The familiar Latin phrase he learned only from her, their little tradition ever since she used to tuck him in at night:

"David, _dulcis somniabunt_ (Sweet dreams)."

He could tell she smiled at him like his own mother would.

_"__Tu quoque_ (_You too)_, Sister Deborah."

….

The day resumed its fast pace the moment David returned to his workstation. After dinner, another class in Bible and evening prayers, all of the boys dragged to the dormitories to wash and get to bed. David swam in the sea of drabby workclothes and dirty faces. He looked to the children around him, their eyes reflecting dread and helplessness.

He should have felt that too. The news of today would send chills down anyones' spine. Not him, he felt needed, like he could wipe the frowns and numb faces of the children around him.

The wash David had to encounter every night was completed with dirty soapy water and coarse brushes pushed against his flesh by paranoid nuns. As he sensitively pulled on his pyjamas over his raw skin, he looked around at the dormitory. Situated on the highest floor of the orphanage, it had a spectacular view of London's sky and the light reflections from clouds above. Five rows of ten beds lined up in neat rows, bolted to the floor with metal frames surrounding flimsy mattresses, rough bedsheets and thin pillows. Each bed was taken this time; usually there were empty ones for other children to steal mattresses from.

The Nuns extinguished the lamps as the children were accounted for and commanded to go to bed. Translucent drapes fell over the windows, blocking out the moonlight and streetlamps. The room sat in a shroud of darkness.

Yet every child feared that darkness, the dread that tomorrow will be the same. They feared that sleep would only keep the nightmare from ending. As much as the Nuns took care of them, none of the orphans wanted to be there; they knew enough about the world outside to know what they're missing.

Every child, that is- except one. David stared up at the ceiling, his arms supporting his head. Little pieces of plaster hung percariously from the walls, like he heard about in caves of rock and water. He made stories out of them, like they were clouds or stars. Then he remembered his idea.

The little boy leaned over to the boy next to him and whispered:

"George."

No answer. Yet.

"George?"

The other boy's eyes flickered awake. His head felt so heavy that he could

barely lift it off the pillow.

"David? Is that you?"

"Yeah."

He rubbed his eyes

"Wh-What's wrong?"

"Did I tell you my story today?"

Neither of them could tell what time it was. For all they knew, they could have just gotten into bed.

"No. You didn't." Regardless of the age difference between them, George loved David's stories.

"Can you tell me?" He leaned forward in his bed, gripping his legs to sit up.

He dramatically cleared his throat and began his story. He heard other children shift their positions after David began. The two of them knew that he had an audience now.

So David amused the orphans of St. Augustine's for what some of the children hoped would be an eternity. He told of the automobiles turning into squirrels, how the passengers didn't mind being thrown about their cabin as the automobiles jerked across the cobblestones. They all laughed when the exterminator showed up in his own squirrel car, only to be scared by a neighborhood dog. They laughed again when the policemen used their bobbed hats to float above buildings and bump into each other mid-flight.

His stories would run dry after a while. His audience sunk in despair. As they shuffled back to bed, their existence felt a little less empty, like a hole in their hearts had been filled once again.

Yet for David, the sense of pride he got from storytelling soon came to an end. When he finally closed his eyes and let his mind wander, the nightmares began.

…..

The ground shifted like sand under his feet as he walked through a vast desert. Endless swirls of dark blues and light purples colored the sky. Bright stars pierced through the dancing colours and shone like spotlights onto the ground. One particular star twinkled between two brighter ones, with two strands of light swirling around it, like they were being sucked into it.

Then the ground grabbed his attention as it pulled him down. He tried to move but his legs stuck fast. As soon as he tried to move away, a platform formed under him, in a way so that he teetered on the edge.

e

s

i

Then the sand began to r ,

as the shifting sands hardened into stone, glass and wood.

The setting became a skyline. A familiar one at that.

His own platform continued to grow as others stopped. A chill ran down his spine the moment he recognized where his nightmare took place. The clock tower formed under his bare feet, over London and the Houses of Parliament. He trembled with a fear of heights.

Still he remained curious. He looked down,

but if he leaned too far, he'd p

l

u

m

m

e

t

to the ground below.

He held onto the brick wall in a terrified hold.

Foolishly, for the thrill of it, he tilted to look below again,

but he leaned too far

and lost his grip.

Those seconds in midair made his heart leap,

his stomach clench itself, and

his body scream in panic.

He cried as he f

e

l

l

to his supposed doom,

the ground ready to accept him in a deadly embrace.

But before he reached the ground, he w**oke **up**.**

His heart leapt out of his chest while sweat soaked his pyjama gown. He sat up and swung his legs out over the bed. His body refused to calm down with deeper breaths.

"David, was that you?"

The only person with that calm of a voice had to be—

"Sorry George. It's just… just… oh, it was all so strange."

"What happened? You woke me up again," he scolded.

"I saw things. In my head…," David revealed.

"Oh, right. I see. That was dream you just had, it is. What did your Mum look like?"

David scrunched his face in desperate confusion as George sat up on the edge of his bed. Even while seated, he towered over most of the boys. Dark beady eyes pierced through the darkness while he pushed his black hair to the side. A grown-up chin could be seen growing on his thin, pale face.

David hesitated, gathering his thoughts and of the absurdity of it all.

"This is going to sound crazy."

"Dreams are meant to be crazy, David."

"Dreams? What are those?"

"Have you ever had a dream before?"

David shook his head slowly.

"What's a dream?"

George leaned back in contemplation, almost like Sister Deborah did hours ago.

"A dream is like a set of pictures sewn together, like a…"

He searched for an object to connect his metaphor to. He reached out and gripped his thin blanket and hoisted it up.

"It's sewn like this blanket. You can't see where the pictures are stiched together but they flow anyways. And it can be about anything, even the most impossible things. Dreams are where it's okay to believe in the impossible."

David breathed a sigh of relief.

"So you mean to tell me, that the storyteller has never dreamed?"

He looked up at George with more reassured eyes.

"Only during the day

"All right so…I was high up on a tower."

"Oh? What kind of tower?"

"Well, it was a clock tower, and I think the one in Westminster."

"You mean Big Ben? By the Thames?"

"Yeah. Who's that coming over here?"

They both turned to see Nathan walk towards them in a slow, yawning walk. He dragged his lanky body towards them. His mop of blond hair covered his face in a lazy wave of gold.

"Sorry. What did I miss?"

David made him a place to sit on the bed.

"David had some sort of nightmare. Did it wake you?"

"No," he shrugged it off, "I just heard you guys talking, so I thought- — might as well get in on the conversation. Were you dreaming the story you told tonight?"

"No, not at all. This felt too real."

George kept egging him on. For some reason, he just wanted to know what happened.

"So, you were on the clock tower— on Big Ben?"

David hesitated to answer more as more of the images filled his head, to the point that it scared him to talk about it. But he had two friends to hear him. They had always been nice to him, especially after they heard him tell stories.

"Well, I… I was on the edge of it and… I became afraid of heights..."

George didn't even blink. "That makes sense…I think. But how did you end up there?"

"Well, um, the whole place was originally made of sand—"

"Wait— sand? Now this is definitely a dream. You never said anything about sand." George leaned back sarcastially, keeping his voice low to avoid waking anyone up.

"How do you know there's no sand in London?" Nathan turned in the paler boy's direction.

"I just know these things, Nathan. Well, David?"

It felt like he was telling a new story. He began to tell it over with added gusto and joy.

"You have to hear the rest. Oh, you must… Then I looked down and… fell…all the way… to the ground."

"And then what?"

"I woke up. And that's all I remember." He slumped back down again after realizing he ran out of material too soon.

The two boys just stared at him; one curious, the other fascinated.

"…That was it, David?"

"Just 'it'? George, I don't know what to think."

"David, it's only a nightmare. I can't tell you what it means. I don't have a clue, any more than you do."

"Honest?"

"Honest. And I'll make sure to keep this quiet."

"You promise? You won't tell anyone?"

"Of course not. Speaking of which, why did they take you out of line?"

David hesitated. The other two simultaneously understood. Something must have happened.

The pain built up again. The shame; the devastation…

"I… Father Priest chose me to replace him. They want me to be the next priest. So I'm… to stay here…forever..."

The words sank in at the pause. Nathan dropped his jaw, exposing his buck teeth. George took aback. He never thought David would be the one chosen.

"So that means… You can't leave?"

David nodded. He let hopelessness wet his eyes as sobs reached his throat.

"Oh, no."

"Stupid grown-ups!" A few sobs escaped from his mouth, taking a couple tears with them.

"David, please. Be quiet—"

"They never even asked me. Do they really think I want to grow up to be like _him_?! Well, I don't! _I won't _grow up!I won't! _I WON'T__!_"

"David, quiet! You want to wake everyone up?"

"There, there, Dave. Don't get so…well, sad about this."

"What on Earth are you talking about, Nathan? How could I not be upset? I'm doomed!"

Nathan ran his thin fingers through his blonde hair. "Um, well, I think this might be the best time to tell you, Georgie-boy."

The older, stronger one of the three leaned in to hear.

"I know how we could run away."

"Nathan, are you sure?"

David interrupted, almost unnaturally.

"Yes! I can't stay here any longer! I don't want to be a priest!"

George turned to his only other friend there. "Any idea how, Nathan?"

"Maybe… you know what they say— _there's always a way_."

_There's always a way…_

Then an epiphany came over him like it waited for the perfect chance.

"Yeah… and I think I just thought of a way."

"Exactly— wait, you know a way out?" Nathan took aback. He didn't think David knew a way out- unless they both knew how to escape.

"Yep, I know just what to do."

"OK, David, but if you knew, why haven't you tried it before? You've been here longer, so you know this place better, no?"

"Well, I guess I was just so scared of leaving. I would be all alone out there. What about you? You came from out there."

"Yeah, but…I don't know. What was your plan?"

"And say it in Sister Agnes' voice, like you did yesterday," Nathan chuckled.

David gave one of his silly grins and cleared his throat.

"We escape at break," he began, transforming his voice into that of the old hag, a favourite talent of his, "Sneak around the nuns and exit through one of the doors in the church."

The boys all laughed in constrained silence. Nathan never spoke of his plan, which had been to fake being sick and escape from the hospital.

After they calmed down, George asked:

"Won't that be too risky? There are other nuns patrolling everywhere. And the Head Priest-"

"He won't be there." David's voice became young again.

"What do you mean?"

"He is going to another Church to meet with a Cardinal tomorrow. Sister Deborah told me."

Nathan nodded in excitement.

"She seems to be one of the only nice Nuns in this whole place, doesn't she?"

"So that's it then."

George looked behind him before he spoke in a low whisper, "We escape through the church at a side door. It's good enough for me."

"Great. I just don't know why I didn't think of that."

Now it was George's turn to have his own chuckle.

"That's because you never thought about escaping, did you Nathan?"

"I _have_ been thinking about it. I just didn't think of that."

"So, when the bell goes for Break, we'll sneak behind the nuns, through… Uh, how will we get to the Cathedral side?"

"There's only one way," David replied hopelessly. "The catacombs—"

Nathan interrupted, "Ooh, right. Good idea."

George finished "—and through the back door of the church to freedom! All right, everybody?"

David still wasn't sure what to do. This place had been his home for years. He couldn't take himself away from it so soon. Then it happened. Another burst of clarity. A sweeping calm overtook his body and he had an overview of the whole situation.

He wouldn't have to grow up! That's all he needed to know. And that's all it took to want to leave. And he could only think of one thing to say:

"Yes. Let's get out of here."

Nathan shook a joyful fist and George grew a smile.

"Then it's settled. We'll leave tomorrow. I'm going to miss the beds. They were the only soft things in this place."

George reminisced as he lay back down. "I miss the outside more than anything. I can't wait to see Oliver, Johnny and Willy again. We'll get right back to doing what we do best."

"Who are they? You never told me about them."

The tall boy sat right back up. "I didn't?"

"No."

"Oh, so wait until you hear this." George grew a huge smirk on his face.

"So I never tell you how I once stole a carriage and sent it crashing into the Thames River?"

"You _what?_"

Even Nathan stared wide-eyed at his statement.

"How?"

"Tell us!"

"All right. But first, wait till I tell you who it belonged to… The judge."

"Wait— which judge? The one that locked us away?"

"Yep." George beamed with pride. "Well, before we were locked up."

As he got on with his tale, his grammar faded to his most beloved accent, the one he had to hide from the Nuns.

"It happened a while ago. Anyway, we had it all planned. Me, Johnny, and Willy — me best mates — we made a bet with our mates at a theatre that if we stole the judge's horse and carriage, they would give each of us ten pounds. We started by getting any carrots we could find, since Johnny said if you give a carrot to a horse it will do whatever you ask. Then that night, we followed the judge back to his house, where he kept his carriage. It also happened to be where he kept his horse, so it wasn't hard to bribe the horse with carrots as we strapped the carriage on to it and gave it a good slap to move. The horse made such a racket with its hooves that it woke up the whole street, but we were long gone by the time the judge realized his horse and carriage were gone.

"Then the bobbies got on our tail. We were able to keep moving thanks to Oliver. He thought of attaching a carrot to a stick with a string so the horse would keep on running, trying to get it. So we were in a chase that lasted for a long time. We needed to lose the bobbies fast. So we all jumped on to the horse and cut the carriage loose so that when we reached the river and turned onto Embankment, the carriage broke off and flew into the Thames drink, while we escaped with the horse."

"That's amazing, George!"

"Yeah, that's actually as crazy as some of David's stories."

Before, David seemed the least happy to leave, but after that burst, the high from making up his mind to leave, and that story, he grinned from cheek to freckled cheek.

After quick "good-nights" to each other, Nathan leapt into bed to catch as much sleep as he could. George didn't leave until he told David his favourite phrase:

"See you in the sunlight, David."

But while he should have gone to sleep, David went over to the large window and took another look outside.

Tall buildings blocked out half of the view, while large clouds covered the rest. He had seen stars over London before, but now the lights from nearby windows and the streetlight painted the world outside in ambient colors or auburn and yellow.

The street looked so empty at this time of night. The world slept again while he sat within the protection of the orphanage.

Soon, he would be out there. He had only heard bad things about the world outside. He didn't want to die out there, but then again he would die if he stayed.

So although he knew he had nothing to lose by leaving, he still didn't want tomorrow. He never felt so scared in his life.


	3. Chapter 3

David usually fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow. Tonight, though, he tossed and turned.

He wished he could get a fever and be sent to the hospital, far away from any this upcoming crisis.

_What would happen if he got caught on the outside?_

He didn't know if being sent back to the orphanage could be worse than prison.

Instead his arms cradled his head as he contemplated his dream. It had been so peculiar, filled with sand and strangely coloured skies.

He stared at the cracked white ceiling as light from the glowing street lamps leaked into the dormitory through the tall windows. The other children were deep in dreams of their own, uttering peculiar sounds. Some were giggling, others spoke nonsense. He wondered what they dreamed about.

Maybe they dreamed of their old families, or their adoptive ones, how much fun they would have once they got out of here, away from this dull, nasty world. He had been in St. Augustine's long enough not to remember what the outside was like. Sister Deborah told of how she first met him, as an infant from Kensington Gardens. She never told him anything else about where he came from. Just that he had been adopted before.

His eyelids eventually began to close as his head felt heavier. He must have gone to sleep a moment later before the wake-up bell rang twice.

_Well, that was fast_. _How long was I asleep?_

The light from the street-lamps was replaced with the sunlight, filtered by big grey clouds. Two nuns marched in, armed with pails of water, to urge the boys to get up or face a bucketful of water — a threat they did not hesitate to carry out.

After seeing that ritual again he could only imagine the consequences of doing something as daring as running away. All three of them would be locked away in separate dungeons. Maybe even in different orphanages; after all, he heard there were plenty in London. His hands shook violently as he put on his uniform and went downstairs for prayers.

The church was attached to the orphanage, joined at the hip like conjoined twins. It's ceilings arched upwards into high towers decorated with paintings and large windows depicting Biblical scenes. It could seat over five hundred people, and the Sunday Mass usually did so. David ushered himself to a wide wooden platform where the orphans stood as a choir, two Nuns at their sides in prepatory prayers of their own. While services began he just stood there, pretending to sing along. The choir sang Gregorian chants as the light bounced off the colours of the windows. Usually his daydreams would catch up to him as he watched the windows interact with one another. This helped him ignore Father Kenneth's sermon entirely as he heard a story come in as the sunlight hit the windows.

When the time came for everyone's personal prayers, a brief emotional tug pulled at his heart as he bowed his head. He never used to do so, as his daydreams would distract him too much. A well of emotions that built up inside caused him to think about what he was about to do. He was going to leave this massive monolith of wood and stone, crosses and Nuns, Priests' blessings and workhouses.

In as much fervor as he could, he prayed that something good would come out of all this. That he would find his family out there. That he would be able to believe that even the most impossible things could come true, even if they took more effort than possible. This soon faded after the Priest's blessing. The orphans left the church wing together, under the sympathetic eyes of the congregants. He heard murmurs from the heartbroken churchgoers talking about them as they disappeared into the world outside, to better lives.

He could barely pay attention to his work, the wagons haphazadly constructed under eyes of attentative Nuns and other grown-ups.

It wasn't long until the bells were heard throughout the workhouse wing.

_Break. _

_This is it. _

_Time to go. _

As the boys flooded into the playground, David swam against it, slipping behind the nuns and back inside. He took off his shoes to prevent them from echoing on the floor and walked on cold stones until he rounded a corner and saw two boys hiding in a closet.

"Psst…David!"

He looked to the corner of his eye, startling him into a smile.

"George! Nath-"

"SHH-QUIET! You want us to get caught?!"

"Sorry. Where are we going again?"

"Just follow us."

"Ooh. Nice idea to take off your shoes."

The three boys tip-toed barefooted through the halls, hoping no one would see them as they crept through their prison. The workhouse joined the church at no connection other than through the main entrance. The only way to the other side meant going through the catacombs, which were prohibited to all except the administrators… with good reason.

Darkness reigned down there, unless you had a torch, which they did not. They looked at each other in sincere fright. None of them had been there before, and Nathan clearly shook in fear of the dark.

They solemnly knew it to be the only way to freedom. The children looked at each other with reassuring looks in the hope that it only lasted for a short while.

So they silently walked, step by step, down the stairs, hands held tightly. George then David then Nathan entered the world of darkness the moment the door shut.

**Silence. **

**Blackness. **

They couldn't speak . It would give themselves away. They could only hold hands as they walked blindly through the room housing the dead. Even with wide open eyes, they could see nothing.

They had only their hands and feet to guide them as they walked through the underground passage, filled with the musty odours of decay and worn-out wood.

They knew about ghosts and demons, how they waited in the dark to frighten the living. None of them knew if poltergeists were down there. Maybe a dead priest woke up and waited for someone to possess…

One step.

At a time.

They held their breaths. David couldn't believe himself; all this darkness let him think more of what he was doing. He was going to brake so many rules;

going into the catacombs,

running away from the orphanage,

disobeying a priest,

leaving Sister Deborah…

He still thought of her as a mother. How could he leave his mother?

Suddenly something gave a strong tug.

e under his feet.

s

o

Then the steps r

They made it! They wer to freedom, to the light.

A surge of happiness coursed through him as they all quickly stepped up the stairs. Light peeked out just behind the door. They could see it. They had never been more grateful to smell the frankensence and musty smells of the church.

They stuck to the door for a long while, waiting to hear if anyone would catch them. George creaked the door open just enough for their skinny bodies to squeeze through, and immediately spilled into an empty hallway.

Then they heard footsteps. Father Kenneth paced down the hallway, at a faster pace than normal.

What was _he_ doing there?

"What on earth is going on here?"

They spent no time to think. The three boys rushed the sanctuary's exit doors, as Father Kenneth called for the guards. Then the third boy stopped him in his tracks.

"David? _What-__?__"_

They go r. And closer. Nathan reached the door and pried at it.

"It's stuck!"

"What?!" David yelled in a panic.

"We'll have to break it down!" George pushed to the front and pushed at the door.

"Or just opening it would be nice!" Nathan's sarcasm wasn't funny this time.

"Come on David. Put some back into it!"

All three boys pushed hard on the door, heaving and pushing to get the rusty hinges to shift.

"C'mon! C'mon! MOVE, please!"

"Why. Won't. This. DOOR. OPEN!"

The hinges gave way as Father Kenneth caught up with them and reached for David's shirt. He slipped out as they burst into the sunlight; the warm air, the calm winds, the colourful leaves...

And the guards. Racing towards them through the gate at the other side of the garden. The guards were young policemen hired to keep the "orphan scum" off the streets. Their abilities were about to be tested.

"Don't stop! David, run!"

They turned and slid away just as the guards made a grab for them, evading their reach. Their shoes flew off their shoulders into the bushes.

It seemed like they were going to make it, but one of the fugitives wasn't so lucky.

"NO! LET ME GO!"

David spun around in horror.

"GEORGE, NO!"

The two men held the boy in a powerful grip. He wrestled against them, trying to wriggle out in vain.

"David, Nathan — Run! Don't stop, just go! NOW!"

David's tears kept him from moving, but Nathan pulled him away.

"David, let's go! Come ON!"

A good pull from Nathan got David moving as the orphanage swallowed up their victim.

They ran like they would never stop. The sun refused to shine any more than before. Blurs of dark colour drifted by.

They stopped in an alleyway off the main street to take a breath. Dark shadows crept through holes in the bricks and wood. Only then did they realize that they lost their shoes.

"David, we did it! We're free!" He pumped fists of celebration, jumping around like a released jack-in-a-box.

David sat across from him, his legs stretched out limply.

"But we lost George..."

Nathan stretched his arms over his head to shake his mop of hair and took huge breaths of fresh, free air.

"Well, who cares? We got out of there alive. That's all I care about."

He looked down to glaring, wide brown eyes.

"What? What did I say?"

"Who cares?! George got caught! What are we going to do to get him?"

Nathan's arms fell to his sides in exasperation.

"Look, there's nothing we can do. We have to keep moving. Even to try would be mad…" He shook his head incredulously at the thought of retrieving George.

"But first, we have got to find some shoes. I can't believe we dropped them back there."

In a rush of defiance, David stood up with clenched jaws and flared nostrils.

"Nathan, that's it! We have to get GEORGE out!"

"David, you're stark starring mad. No way! George is gone! It's because of him that we got out!"

David reeled back in betrayed shock. It took only one second to leave the safe alleyway and turned back to St. Augustine's. He didn't even will his legs to move; they did by themselves.

"David, please, listen to me! I didn't mean it! Don't try to get him back! You can't!"

Nathan rushed to him and grabbed him by his shoulders, slamming him into the brick wall.

"WHY NOT?!" The push drove out the sobs welling up in the poor orphan.

"Because…you're…they're all grown-ups, David. You can't take them on and get George too. Not now. Please! I didn't mean it! Stop!"

Nathan rushed to bring him back into the alleyway, before anyone saw. But David slipped away.

"No! I know what you really meant! You never liked him, did you? You wanted him to get caught, so you could escape."

"No! Not at all! It's not like that! David, I'm…I'm sorry."

David didn't believe a word of it. Nathan didn't try to stop him.

David stormed out into the street.

He could hear Nathan shouting behind him:

"Go get him back! But they'll only grab you back in! If you leave, I can't help you!

"You won't last out here!

"You'll die and you know it! You need me!"

David took one look back at his last hope… and flipped him the sign he learned from George -two fingers pointed upwards- before running out of view.

…

Stoned streets turned to clouds. Massive buildings enveloped him into their abyss. Windows stared down at him as he passed. He felt their cold glare staring at his clothes, his dirty hair; the paint smudges on his forearms and face, his bare feet. London became an inescapable maze.

A cold chill rushed up through his toes as a brisk wind swept through the street. Tall trees of Silver Maple and Cornelian Cherry swayed in an awkward rhythm. Pedestrians overlooked him as he dodged Wolseleys and Fords marching in opposite directions down the street. It took him a long time to realize that he was hopelessly lost.

David stopped. His legs refused to move. Only the honking of horns woke him up and rushed him underneath an awning. Fear continued to rise in his chest. Not only had he lost one friend, but completely abandoned another. And if he got caught again trying to save George… No, he couldn't think of that.

He didn't know if he should save George or try to find Nathan again. Should he forget about both of them and go out on his own?

He feared going back more than going forward. Guilt gripped him so tightly that he could only sit on the side of the road, huddled in fear amongst the throngs of people passing through the streets. A street preacher screamed at the top of his lungs. Thunder echoed overhead as shop-owners proclaimed their wares. Big Ben rang in its full glory.

Then it happened. A wave of serenity came over him. The same one that helped him befriend George and Nathan in the first place. He began to think calmer, as if finding a way through this situation:

_Let's see. What am I to do? _

_Go to get George. He was my first friend. _

_Yes, that's what I'll do. _

He slipped back into the flow of the crowd, following the carriages, hiding from the grown-ups' sights. Light broke over the skyline, blinking through the mist and brightening his way. As he turned the street, he left the row of carriages and turned towards a smaller alleyway. Women hung clothes on lines spanning across buildings, weaving a tapestry like a spiderweb between trees. As he reached a euphoric bliss of running on his barefeet again, he made another turn and finally recognized a stoop and a screaming preacher.

It took him a moment to realize that he had just ran in a circle.

Dumbfounded by his mistake, he began chuckling at his own mistake. Crowds stared at the little orphan boy rolling on the floor, laughing to his heart's delight.

So he turned any way that seemed familiar. A right. A left. Then another left. It came back to him now…in a pecular way. He went with his instinct, continuing straight, then a right, then another right.

Then he saw the sign on the street corner: Embankment. That's it! He knew that street name as the location of his old home. He turned to the right of the huge church to avoid the front entrance of the Orphanage.

His shoes leaned next to the fence inside the courtyard where he had flung them.

David gave a puzzled stare at them, wondering how they had been ignored the whole time. He slipped a hand through the railings and took them in one by one, then darted back across the street from the orphanage, slipped the shoes back on and tied the laces. He relaxed as the warmth of the shoes rushed to his feet. He had liked walking barefoot in the beginning, when it broke the rules. He just wished he could walk on some grass…

Then he heard the sound of a machine stopping in front of the orphanage. A big black Maxwell Model 24 Touring parked in front of the main stairwell. He rarely saw a car, let alone stop at the orphanage.

_Oh. Maybe a boy is be getting adopted by a family with a car. _

Safely out of sight, he looked out to the entrance to see the newest lucky one to get a family.

A tall boy with deep black hair screamed, "Let me go!" while a man and a guard forcefully escorted him to the car.

_George! No! I'm too late! _

He could barely hear the conversation between a nun and the man's wife at the stairwell.

"…Darling…care for him."

"Well…we'll take care of him…"

A man in a tuxedo twisted some a crank on the front of the car as a woman with a pompous strut and a pale man, both with fur coats, got in the back to join George. The Maxwell putted to life as the tuxedoed man climbed in the driver seat.

The big black car proceeded along the road in David's direction.

He tried to get another glimpse of George as they sped by. The woman blocked the window, but as the car went past, David's legs started to chase it. He wanted to see his friend again.

"Stop! Wait! George!"

He ran past buildings and city blocks, turning the paving stones into a flowing river beneath him.

But the car moved faster, even on the uneven roads. Then it made a turn. David tried to catch up, but as he turned the corner he could see the car swerving in a different direction. As he caught up to that road, the car turned again, bridging the gap between him and seeing George, for the last time.

With blurry vision and sheer desperation, he tried to cut the car off by taking a shortcut. He ran down a different road making any turn he could find, hoping he could find a road to that car. He ran and ran until he couldn't take it anymore.

_It was hopeless. _

"I lost him. I didn't even…get to…say goodbye."

He wanted to cry. It took more strength to hold back those tears than it had taken to run this far. Tears welled up in his eyes as he crouched down in the middle of the street, no longer caring if anyone saw him. For the second time, on his first day of freedom, he sobbed into his folded arms and knees.

Is this what freedom is like? Being separated from the ones you know and forced to stand on your own? If so, he wasn't sure he wanted to be free anymore. He wished he could go back with Nathan and George again. He wanted to tell stories again, to see Sister Deborah…

He once called her Mama. She had forbidden it, but every time he did, it was when all of the other children were asleep, when he curled up next to her as she told him her own stories.

She used to sing him lullabies and hold him like a mother. Now she was gone, like everybody else.

He wanted to go home. Now. He wanted to open his tear-drenched eyes and be back at the Orphanage, in Sister Deborah's sun-drenched office, with the green plants. Even with Father Kenneth. He didn't care. It would be better than being stuck in between menacing citadels of stone and wood.

Aimlessly, he walked down the street, red-eyed from rubbing his eyes with his sleeves. He wandered up until the corner of the road, spilling out into a intersection open to the sky above.

Then he heard a commotion coming from nearby:

"Got ya, you little thief! Now you'll pay for what ya did!"

A policeman dragged a boy — younger than David, with darker hair — by the collar across the street, on the other side of the intersection. The boy struggled to free himself from the policeman by wiggling his body. He had never seen a policeman being so mean before.

"Get offa me! You got the wrong kid! I didn't do nothin'! 'Onest! Let me go!"

"Not this time, ya little runt! It's off to the orph'nage wit' ya!"

As they shuffled across the intersection, David's eyes met the policeman's. They both froze.

"OY! YOU! STOP!"

It only took one look to panic. David rushed into another alleyway, on the other side of the intersection. After running through more empty streets and alleyways, he hid in a smaller alley in fear of capture. His heart beat faster than a car's putter, and once again, his body refused to leave his new hiding spot.

He didn't even realise that there were other boys hidden behind him. They started whispering to each other. David's neck hairs shot up.

"Oy, new boy. Where you from?"

_Uh oh. _

He slowly turned to face the motley crew of children, six eyes staring him down, from his matted hair to his dirty shoes.

"Well? Who are yeh?" The tallest boy said that from the shadows.

"You got any money on ya?" He heard a raspy voice from the smallest boy there.

Their clothes ripped at the seams with thin faces caked in dirt. Their eyes narrowed on him, ready to tear him apart.

"M-m-my name is Da-David. I'm from the… the orphanage."

"Oh yeh? Prove it. Which one?"

"S-Saint Augustine's."

Their eyes widened and turned to each other.

"I think that name rings a bell, eh?"

"Yeah, it does… isn't that where they sent Porgey?"

David looked confused. "Porgey? Who's he?"

They turned to him again. "You don't know Porgey? You must not have gone there, you liar!"

"W-wait, is that his real name? Porgey?"

The smallest one spoke up, to the protest of the others. "It was a nickname, it was. From the nursery rhyme- ya know? Georgey Porgey? That's wha' we called 'im."

"Georgey? As in George?" Excitement rushed over his body.

"George who?"

"Tall boy? Black hair? Did he steal a horse and carriage once?"

Their eyes opened in a childish manner again.

"Holy mother of-… how'd you know about tha'? 'E told ya?"

David started reminiscing in front of the wide-eyed others. "He told me about how you all stole the Judge's carriage, galloped away before he could blink, and destroyed it while keeping the horse."

He confidently flicked his eyes in the boys' direction, eyes wide and head nodding.

"So…which of you is Oliver, Johnny, or Willy?"


	4. Chapter 4

The boy with brown hair and a black eye spoke first.

"Well, I'm 'Willy,'" he stood the tallest, complete with a black eye, deep voice and buck teeth,

"that's 'Oliver," then pointed to the smallest boy there, with long brown bangs, smirked and waved at him,- "and-"

"I'm Johnny." The chubby boy behind all of them cut Willy off. He grew huge dimples when he smiled even slightly, with more fat in his cheeks than the others.

"Nice to meet ya, David the O'phy," Johnny exclaimed, as if giving him a new name. The others laughed at the name while David awkwardly snickered.

"On behalf of the rest of us, I'd like to welcome you to the Lost Boys of London. Let's shake on it."

David's eyes widened and nodded his head in agreement. Willy extended his hand to David, but not before spitting a glob of white foam on it. David grimaced at the sight of the sloppy hand, the palm dripping with spit.

"Ah, cmon. It's just spittin'. Shake it you coward."

_Just …spitting? Gross! _

David looked at them with humiliating revoltion on his face.

_But, if there's no other way… _

He stuck out his hand before hearing them laugh at him again.

"You stupid o'phan. You have to spit on your hand too before we shake. Geez, you really did come out of a nuthouse, didn' ya?"

As David took his hand back, he made sure to spit in the palm, like Willy did. Then they shook, and David shivered, holding back an urge to vomit.

"It's official then! So O'phy, the coast clear when you came in?"

"No. But it might be now."

"Well, go out and check."

Every fiber of his being told him to stay there, but he knew he had to. He crept to the corner and peered out to his relief. Not a soul walked around then.

"No one's here now."

"Fantastic. Then let's get ou'a here. I'm sick o' waiting. And I'm hungry."

"Me too."

David's stomach grumbled in agreement.

Johnny got up out of his cross-legged position and started towards the clearing.

"Well, what're we waitin' for? The marketplace can' be too far away."

They all got up together and slid into the sunlit alleyway. The four of them bolted out into the streets, running as fast as they could. The other boys were just as fast as him, so to keep up with them made it into a contest he happily joined.

Oliver led them all, David following in the back, as they wove through a thick traffic made up of carriages, businessmen, and the occasional pram.

"Las' one to the corner eats one o' Miss Mahrcy's rotten apples!"

They darted around the corner, into a street filled with noise and people. Carts filled with baggiages pushed across the street, forcing them to slide below the wheels and out the other side. Two long rows of shops and carts extended on the far right and far left of the street as people and carriages traversed the centre. David had never seen anything like this as his eyes took everything in.

They pushed and slipped through the crowd, passing by old ladies gossiping on benches outside dilapidated shacks, throwing scraps of food to a flock of pigeons. The other boys were so much more adept at slipping through a huge crowd than him. A large statue of a soldier loomed over the populace while loud noises and sharp smells arose from different shops and shacks.

"Potatoes, over 'ere! Three pounds a bag! Only got the best!"

"Fruit here! Fresh exotic fruit! Never tasted anythin' like it! Only two pence a fruit! Get 'em befo'e they gone!"

"New toys for gels (girls) and boys! Excitin' an' cheap! Get 'em 'ere!"

He turned his attention to the boys in front… and realised they were gone.

He began to panic as the throngs of the crowd overwhelmed him. He pushed against it, but it packed him in, and he became a helpless part of the raging river of a flowing crowd. Then he heard a sharp whistle that stood out from the other noises. When he heard the whistle again, he turned in its direction.

Willy waved him to move to their alley. But David couldn't move. So Johnny came to pull him out and bring him in. David breathed a sigh of relief.

"Whew, I thought I lost you guys. That was close."

"Typical. We'll let you off since you're a newbie. Who go'a purse?"

_Got a purse? Did they buy one so quickly? And why would they all want to buy purses? _

"Like taking candy from a baby." Oliver's thin hand held one up, a leather purse with a metallic chain.

"I got two." The pair of purses that Johnny held up looked tiny in his huge hands.

David couldn't believe it as they pooled all of the contents.

_Did they steal those? _

"Did you steal those?"

Oliver laughed. "Well of course! You think we bought them? With money still in them?"

David's shoulders rose in uncertainty. As much as he hated his orphanage, the commandments he was ordered to remember flashed in his head: thou shalt not steal… They noticed his large brown eyes staring at the contents.

"What? What's the ma'er? You never stole something befo'e?"

David wildly shook his head while Willy grew an incredulous smile.

"Wow, not even in the orph'nage? No way."

David shrugged. "Yeah well, they taught us about stealing when we were little, and they'd punish us if we did, so…"

Then he noticed them staring at him.

"Why are you all looking at me like that?"

The two older boys grew big grins, as if they shared a plan David knew nothing about.

"Go out and steal a purse. Right now."

David's eyes widened in fear. He had already done enough naughtiness in one day, and now this? He couldn't even speak, let alone tell someone "no".

"Uh…Well… Um… I'd rather not."

"David, if you want to be a part of the group, you'll have to break a few of your stupid rules. Your princ'ples will only slow us down. Do it, or you're not one of us. Go. Now."

A fierce battle began in his head. He could just go back and all of this would be over. One beating and that would be it, he'd be safe again. Back at the orphanage.

But he would be stuck ther r. That's not what he wanted.

Yet if he were to survive on the outside, and find the place he'd always dreamed of, he needed friends. He knew what it meant to be alone in the world outside. He had to keep his new friends somehow.

"O-o-…I'll d-do it."

"Tha's ma boy, O'phy! Oliver, show him how it's done."

"Johnny! I got more wallets!"

"Ye', but Oliver got more pounds. Show 'im."

"Will do. C'mon Orphy."

They rose up and squeezed into the crowd as the noises enveloped them once again.

**Chapter 5- Fat Wallets and Stolen Apples **

They slipped through the rags and bodies swirling through the street. Oliver held David's hand as they swam upstream through a sea of people and carts. They reached a small alleyway off of the main street and took a breath there. Oliver looked out through the people, David watching close behind. They could yell at each other and no one else would notice.

"The market goes into parts for different things," Oliver instructed.

"A food part, a furn'ture part and so on. The ripest wallets are at the furn'ture section. That's where all of the greasy codfish go when they can add to their parlours, so we're gonna go there."

"Sorry, but 'codfish'?"

"Yeh. That's what we call them fancy people. They be grimy, smelly ones, like fish. They're so ugly and smelly that no water and fancy soaps can 'elp 'em."

David smiled in agreement. They all smelled, especially Father Kenneth. He turned back to the fearless boy in front of him.

"So how did you get the other wallets then?"

"We're profesh'nals. We don't need to pick only the ripe ones. You'r just a beginneh."

He couldn't believe himself. He felt sick at the idea of taking someone else's wallet, specially to keep it. It went against everything he learned.

The nuns glared down at him, with scolding eyes, pointed fingers, and an escort to the dungeon forever. 'Thou shalt not steal' had been shoved down his throat and ingrained into his unconscious.

But they were all codfish anyway. Dirty, smelly codfish.

Another rush of calm sweep through him, like before.

If he wanted to avoid being a priest and staying here forever, he'll do it. He could break away from the person he had been, to be someone different. To laugh like he did when he discovered his running in circles. He could have some fun like he did in the Orphanage, but out here.

"Just a little while… There, we're 'ere! You see the tables?"

"Oliver, I really want to do this now."

"You do? What changed from before?"

David thought about it and grew an innocent grin.

"Because it could be fun to trick a codfish."

Oliver nodded slowly, like he watched a transformation happen in front of him.

"Yeh. They 'ate us, too. They wouldn't be caught dead near us. The money doesn't 'urt, neither."

They wove through the crowd like alley cats, concealed beneath the wooden tables and chairs, and throngs of people and voices. They stopped under a particularly large table.

"There. Them trousers. You see?"

"The grey ones?"

"No. The black ones, with the bulge on the side for the wallet. It's asking fo' it. Ready?"

"Uh… yeah, I think."

"All right, watch this. It's simple, really."

As soon as David said, "How?" Oliver had slid in out from under the table and moved around that man in a quick circle. Then he slipped his left hand in and drew out the wallet. He rushed back to the table, next to a surprised David.

"H-H- How did you do that?" He looked at the wallet like a lost treasure.

"Simple really. Just slip in and took it. Now you try."

"Yes, yes, I'll try."

He quickly crawled out of the table on all fours and searched for what Oliver called "ripe" wallets, the ones that bulged out of the trouser pockets. He got so close to the smelly codfish that he heard their conversations; they were all so grown up and snobby. And their cologne and perfume itched his nostrils.

He could do this, just like Oliver did. He chose a ripe wallet, slipped his hand in, and-

"What the BLOODY 'ELL ARE YOU DOING, DEVILISH IMP!"

David fell to the ground in front of red-faced, infuriated rich man, with rolls of flesh underneath his quivering chin. Surrounded by grown-ups on all sides, and shocked with fear, the only thing he heard sounded like Oliver-

"Orphy, RUN!"

"GET BACK HERE, YOU BLOODY ORPHAN!"

David hit the ground running. He wriggled away under the tables, almost colliding with his mentor. By the time they started running, on the other side of the pavement, David floated on air next to Oliver, the loose garments of the populace turning to floating curtains of air.

"Goodness, Orphy! That was bloo'y mad! You messed it up, and you were so close too!"

Oliver's face scrunched in concern. Then David grinned smugly, for the first time.

"Who said I only got close?" He held up a big, fat wallet, before swiftly returning it into his jacket pocket.

"What? Quick, 'urry, Orph- I mean- Davey! 'E's gaining on us!"

"How on earth is he gaining on us? We're faster than he'll ever be!"

"I know, but we've a crowd to squeeze past. He marches through and they all run out of his way."

Sure enough, they heard him parting the crowd.

"Make way, make way. I'm the Judge! Those boys have my pocketbook. Grab them! Apprehend them! Police!"

They passed numerous alleyways, tight and only accessible through the small carts that covered one of the sidewalks. That's when David got a plan, for the first time outside of the orphanage.

"Wait! Oliver, here! I have an idea!"

"What? Where you goin'?"

"Somewhere safe! Quickly, under here!"

They broke to the right, into the side of the tables, where the judge couldn't reach them. Maybe the alleyway would lead to somewhere they could hide… hopefully.

Their tiny bodies squeezed through tight spots underneath the kiosks and they raced down to the alleyway, the judge's shouts fading. They ran around the corner at the end of the alleyway, looked to see if the coast cleared, then shared a breath of relief and a quick chuckle.

David couldn't believe himself; not only had he stolen his first wallet, he had even guided his new friend to safety. His cleverness gave him a satisfied laugh and the first urge to jump so high he could fly. Oliver nudged his shoulder as the other one took in his surroundings.

"Davey, look. I never saw anyfing like this. Not near the marke'place."

To their surprise, the path led to a wide-open courtyard, as big and as wide as the whole orphanage, covered in green and cobblestone, like a secret garden tucked away from the drabby greys. Two massive maple trees covered the courtyard with roof-like leaves, filtering the sunlight into flapping curtains, and small houses surrounded it with walls. They slowly walked through the wide open space, completely different from the tight spaces they experienced just a minute ago. David loved his new surroundings, yet Oliver trembled nervously.

"Davey, let's go. I don't feel good 'bout this pwace."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"I feew like I'm bein' watched. Tha's how I feel."

"You still think the judge is behind us, don't you?"

"No…"

"Then why are you so nervous Oliver—"

Both of them never noticed the older man hidden in the Shadows.

"You boys lost or something?"

"AAAAH!"

Oliver jumped up in scared panic and hid behind David, shaking his shoulders furiously.

"Can I help you? Don't worry. I live here." His face seemed young but his back bent in the way of older people, with matching grey hair that reflected the light from the alleyway.

The two boys looked at each other, apprehensive, then the braver one spoke.

"Yes. Can you tell us 'ow to get outta here, Sir? We need to get back to the market. Our friends are waitin' for us."

"Sure. Just go back the way you came from."

"Um, well, it's not that simple. We were… framed for a crime, right Oliver?"

"Uh, yeah, we were framed. We need to get out to somepwace safer."

For some reason, the old man paused. David felt him looking at him for a long time before he answered, almost as if they knew each other.

"All right. Just go out any of the other alleyways and you should be fine."

They answered in unison. "Thank you, sir."

He bowed his head. "You're welcome. Now carry on."

As they ran past him, David caught a glimpse of his sharp blue eyes staring at him. Then he spoke with his back to them.

"I know you're wallet snatchers." They froze in guilt.

"Don't worry, I understand your plight. If you need a safe place to lay low for a while, my bookshop is open to you. Just look for Ichabod's bookstore, children."

After thanking him again, they rushed out into the public squeeze of the marketplace.

"Y'know, I'd rather be there than in the tight spaces here."

"Not with 'im, though. 'E proper spooked me out."

"Yeah, but there's no space here. You see the judge?"

"No. Aw clear. You still 'ungry?"

They passed the fruit section, a few blocks from the group's hideout.

"Yeah. You?"

"Starving. Fowow me."

They neared a fruit stand and slipped out the bottom with an apple in hand. David almost didn't know what to do with it then co he copied what Oliver did: polished the apple with his shirt and took a huge bite. The fruit burst in his mouth, complete with an enjoyable crunch. The sweetness rolled around over his tongue and traveled around his mouth. He took each bite very slowly, chewing it and relishing the delicious flavours. Oliver finished before David took his third bite.

"I guess it's true what fey say: the stolen apples are the swee'est."

"Yeah. We never had apples at the orphanage."

"Yep. You're a natural, Davey. A judge's wallet and good apples?! Nice bounty fo' a first day."

The Sun peaked over the horizon as they slipped back into the alleyway, where the rest of them were sharing leftovers of half a chicken, torn to pieces across the cobbled floor. Willy chowed down on a chicken leg like he hadn't eaten in a week.

David whispered to Oliver, "How did they get that-"

Oliver waved him off. "'Fey just get these things. Don't ask."

"Where were you? We went an' got vis wi'out ya."

They sat down with them, finishing their semi-circle. "I'm not 'ungry anyways. You, Davey?"

David shrugged his tiny shoulders. "No, not really."

"Speakin' of which," Johnny chomped down on a wing, spitting out pieces of bone. "You get a wallet'? We hoped you would."

"Oh, I did actually. Here it is!" David surged with pride as he lifted up the huge wallet from his jacket. He looked to Oliver, who flashed a sympathetic smile but with apprehending eyebrows arched over big eyes.

"Good on you, Orphy! Now hand it over. It belongs to the group."

David immediately brought it back to his chest. Innocent shock flowed through his veins.

"No! Why should I?"

"Orphy, you want to be back on the streets, wiv no friends? You need us to survive."

Willy clenched his fists and held his right up to David's face. Johnny glared into his soul.

"Wait, we still are on the streets! And I learned to steal, so why should I stay with you guys?"

Oliver buried his face in his hands. Willy stood back and kept his glare in David's eyes.

"For protection. You wander out there alone and you'll be finished in a week. 'Vey'll rob yeh, beat yeh and the bobbies will leave yeh to rot in jail. That what you want, Orphy?If not, yeh'd best hand it ova."

David gulped at the thought. So he begrudgingly gave over the wallet — all hundred pounds, fourteen shillings, and sixpence, with a picture of two fat boys.

"Whoa, nice job O'phy. Not bad for a first wallet."

A cold breeze rushed between them, sweeping debris into the streets, like it was trying to clean London. Johnny looked up and noticed the sky darken into a quick succession of dark blues and purples.

"Night's comin'. Wiv that comes more Bobbers. Let's find a place to tuck down."

"Right. Leave the chick'n to the cats. C'mon O'phy, Oliva."

After venturing deeper into the maze of tight alleyways, they settled down for the night in the dead end of an alleyway, under a bridge to shelter them from the possible rain. Both Willy and Johnny fell asleep as soon as they put their heads down, With Oliver huddling inside his oversized coat, David rested his head on his hands, not caring about the cold enough to complain.

"Oliver?"

"Yeah, what? Keep it down, idiot. Don't wake fem up."

"Sorry. I never asked you why you're all called the 'Lost Boys'. Why that name?"

Oliver snickered. He remembered asking that question when he first joined them, when George was the Leader. He had told him why, and now he could tell it to his friend.

"It's 'cause we'h lost, never to be found. Isn't vat who we are? Out here in London on our own, away from all the codfishes and snooty-faced adults?"

David silently stared at the sky beyond the arch. The stars twinkled through swarms of clouds as the moon tried eating them up. Oliver was right, though; he was now a member of the Lost Boys. He would never go back to the orphanage. His mouth grew a big grin.

"Oliver?"

"Yeh?"

"Isn't it funny how George and I really messed up that judge? He took his horse and cart, and I took his wallet. He's probably still looking for them."

They both giggled at the thought of his massive body running around London looking for them.

"What was George like in your group, Oliver?"

David couldn't see it, but a twinkle grew in Oliver's eye as he reminisced about what it had been.

"He was my first friend. He taught me everyfing I know. To steal, to fight. We were a group before Johnny and Willy tried to mut'ny, ven George showed them who's boss. You shoulda seen him give vem a paddlin'…

"He even taught me how to look for the North Star. He always liked the stars, like those."

He shifted over to where David lay and pointed to a cluster of stars twinkling over the moon.

"He liked the stars that 'overed over the moon. He said vose were the farvest ones, and ve brig'est star in vat group was wheh heaven is."

To David's surprise, the star looked familiar. Like he had seen it before, in a dream of some kind…

"Anyways, I'm tired. G'night, Davey."

The little orphan lay awake for a while before closing his eyes.

l upwards as he recognized his footing.

l

e

The**n **f

_Oh, no. Not at the Big Ben! Not again!_

A voice appeared, different from his own:

_Whatever you do, don't look down! _

Who… who is this?

The voice continued: _Keep your eyes straight! Slide across the edge of the tower or you'll see nothing but the street! _

This nightmare had made David afraid to dream. Once, his dreams were an escape, a way to make impossible things. But this was no dream.

He didn't even need to be told not to look down. He had done once before and had fallen, only to wake up. But from where he stood the whole of London spread out beneath him. The streetlights and houselights illuminated new life into the city's pitch-black night. The moon perched atop a throne of stars.

Now the voice spoke again and got louder until it rang in his ears, cancelling out anything else.

_Get away from this ledge. He'll get you. No, it's too late. Jump … Now! BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE! _

Too late… for what?

Then a different voice appeared behind him, booming and powerful.

**"****Hey, you there! Come back here, boy! Come to me, or I'll come to ****you****!" **

The brickwork near him burst apart, scattering bricks to the ground far below. A monstrous hand grew from the hole , with an arm long enough to grab him.

_JUMP! NOW! BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE! _

He panicked as sweat trickled down his face. This meant jumping to his doom. No one could save him.

_WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? __JUMP! _

Before the hand could grab him, David took a footing and jumped as far and as high as he could.

The wind tore through his hair.

Terror kept him from screaming.

His heart beat fast and hard in his chest.

His hands stretched out in vain to grab a ledge.

His legs spread out behind him, kicking the air in panic.

Amidst the chaos, a sudden thought snuck into his head, a thought that gave him serenity for just a second: "Well this isn't particularly good. At least he didn't catch you, right?"

David agreed with a humorous inevitability, with a calm feeling sweeping through him. As he fell faster and faster to his impending doom, David closed his eyes, smiled, and waited for the final impact.

He expected to hit the ground. Then it happened. A change in the fall…

He could've sworn he wasn't falling v

e

r

t

i

c

a

l

l

y

but horizontally s

d

r

a

w

… and p

u

_What's going on?! A g?!_

David couldn't be sure, because at that mo**ment…** **He **woke up.

David gasped for air. Cold beads of sweat ran down his face and his heart beat out of his chest. His lungs begged his body to calm down.

It had been that clock dream again. This time, the voices pierced his head and the fall froze his body with chilled winds. Questions swirlled in his mind, as he retrieved the dream. He barely remembered that he flew, just that he fell…

_Why was I on the ledge? Who, and why, did someone tell me to jump, before it was too late? _

_"__Too late" for what? Who tried to catch me and what did they want? _

He looked around to check on the others. Willy and Johnny leaned up against the wall and Oliver curled up right next to him, in his man-sized jacket with the cuffs rolled up.

All that can wait for another time… he was _free_ now. Worrying wasn't meant for the free and lost.

So he rested his head on his hands and looked up at the roof above him before closing his eyes, a ritual that he performed every night.

In the coming months, they were always on the move, setting themselves down anywhere; one night under the open sky, the next sheltering from the rain in the basement of an old mansion. They would even return to that alleyway when they had enough clothes to keep warm. Yet every night, no matter if he had a black eye or a secret twenty pounds in his pocket, he sat and stared at the sky with an innocent grin on his face, glad to be a part of a life filled with adventure.

Unbeknownst to him, things that good never stay the same.

Some things never change.


	5. Chapter 5

**Three Months Later…**

Thin sunlight slapped them all awake on that especially cold fall morning. Frost gathered on the windows of their temporary residence, turning the world outside into crystal. Their bodies shivered underneath stolen jackets, yet David jumped up the moment he awoke. He looked outside to watch the sunlight gather on the windowsill.

"Everybody still alive?" David jovially turned to the rest of the gang. Apart from the shrinking orphanage uniform, he looked like one of them: face and hands proudly caked in dirt, long hair matted down with mud and dust. While slightly taller than Oliver, he still had his high-pitched proper-city voice and all of his baby teeth. His hair had gotten lighter from spending so much time outdoors, or so he thought. Without a mirror, he never noticed his eyes turn a brighter shade of hazel recently, aside from his wounds healing faster than the others.

"Yeah. Willy's still here." His black eye had switched eyes two weeks ago.

"Ughh… Oliver's here." He had lost one of his front baby teeth in a scuffle a week ago and now wore a big, plaid beret to look tougher.

"Why do you keep asking that question, Davey?" Johnny had slimmed down — after doing much scouting around town — but still had a chubby face and comfortably slipped into a monstrous red coat.

"Just making sure we're all right. It makes me feel good. You know what happened to the other group. One of them died and they didn't even know it till after they left. "

He shrugged in agreement. " True. 'e's got a point."

Johnny stretched as the rest of them arose and checked their pockets.

"So, the usual café everyone?"

"Yep." Willy made a final check of his rucksack.

"I'm in." David wiggled his shoulders.

"Me too. I'm ready." Oliver pushed up his beret to see.

"Then let's go. Before we meet the twins."

"Yeah. An' before this shack's owner finds us."

They ditched their extra coats and snuck out into the brightening morning, backtracking to London's city centre and marketplace. Other gangs navigated the city using various markings and pieces of scarves left on street-lamps to guide them. Oliver ran behind Johnny as he recognized the markers and followed them.

David remembered the first time they ran at dawn. He had not been used to waking up so early then, his legs ached from fatigue and his head hurt. Now, though, he welcomed it every morning, like a morning coffee.

They flowed through the tiniest alleys and small openings in walls, just to avoid the public eye and the bobbies.

Once he recognized where they were, after passing Great Ormond Street and the hospital there, David caught up to Oliver, with Willy and Johnny not too far behind. Then they split up into groups to mooch a fancy breakfast café on Bloomsbury St. The guests wouldn't know what happened as they practiced a common technique amongst orphan groups. There would be ruckus generated by a group of faster boys, while the slower ones took pasties and other treats while the guests weren't looking. It's what the groups called a "harvest".

Today would be a good harvest. He could feel it.

The fast little boys ran in first, weaving through the tables, snatching up not only sweets but even wallets and purses before exiting the front doors on the other side of the café. David had gotten so much better at snatching wallets that it had become a contest between Oliver. However many wallets they took, they both loved the reaction they left behind, almost as if a carriage had crashed through the place, horses and all.

"Oh Goodness! Filthy mongrels!"

"Alice, watch out for the vermin!"

"They got my wallet!"

"Ahh! James, watch for those rats!"

"After them! Police, do SOMETHING!"

"Oh, my HEAVENS! They took my _good_ purse!"

They ran away and lay low in an alleyway, before circling back to their designated hideout and shared their bounty, edible and spendable. David never liked saying grace, so nothing stopped him from chowing down on the biscuits — the stolen, therefore sweeter kind.

"So why are we goin' to the twins?"

Johnny looked up and wiped the crumbs from his face on the sleeve of his jacket.

"There's a new judge in town, ran on promise to rid London of o'phans running about. Rumour is the twins know what neighbor'oods 'e's gonna target first. We need to know so we can dodge 'im, and they want dosh. We got it, Willy?"

"Yeh, we go' enough money. We go' more than enough from today's takin's alone."

"Then let's move. We're meant to meet them up at Westminster by the time Big Ben strikes seven."

"But I'm not finished eating." Oliver wobbled even when seated. Johnny flared up at the little speed-demon.

"You gree'y scut. You'll be be'er off to run if we bail from 'ere now, wi'out your gut so full."

They were on the move again, avoiding the public roads — and the grown-ups' eyes —slipping through alleyways, past groups of other boys who were lost, just like them.

The throng of carriages and bodies were difficult to squeeze through on such a cloudy day, the fog dancing in the cobbled streets. The meeting place had been called to where Johnny called "the Big Bells", right in the centre of the city.

Westminster, the centre of London.

David heard about it, even dreamed about it. He knew about the massive river that ran through it, the huge clock tower -which housed the bell they called Big Ben- tall enough to touch the sky.

It might have appeared majestic and mysterious at any other time, but as they passed by, it looked threatening, the clock face frowning down on them as if to snitch on them. David thought that it might even be a watchtower for bobbers, with its bold face and rigid arms pointing at them as they passed.

They arrived early, as planned. Johnny showed them a hidden door in one of the grey buildings, tucked away from view behind a chimney stack of slightly different stone. It jutted out from the exterior wall, like the building sprouted a new growth later in life.

Once at the door, Johnny put a finger to his lips. As the best talker of the lot, they understood its meaning: keep their mouths shut and let him do the talking. For all they knew, Johnny could talk a wallet out of a pair of trousers.

Then there were the twins, staring down at them as they walked through the doorway. A lamp behind them cast an eerie shadow in front of them, intimidating their "clients" to tell the truth. It didn't hurt to have three other boys of equal or greater size on each side.

The twins were wearing the most suitable clothes for swindling: jackets and pants in dark colours, with bright ties hanging loosely from their necks, dark hair slicked back and any odour masked by cologne. Rumour had it that both of them killed many grown-ups before- even their parents.

The boys alongside them had shaved hair, their narrow stare visible in the lamplight, with white rolled-up shirts hiding stains from other sins. It wasn't fair that boys as big as the twins had even bigger friends to help them.

One of the other boys kept looking over at David like he recognized him. He didn't know how. But he couldn't help it. He looked much taller now and he looked tougher without any hair…

"Well?" One of the twins growled in a deep voice, the innocence sucked out of it.

"You made the deal. You have the money, I take it?" The other spoke in a high-class accent, as if he'd been born rich.

Only Johnny stood a chance with words.

"Give us wheh th' Judge be searchin', and the money's all yours. Show 'em, Willy."

With quick precision, Willy took out their collective pouch and showed the exorbitant One Hundred pounds they requested. Nathan brought the money to the other twin, who examined it while the other boys kept their eyes on the Lost Boys.

David noticed that one of them disappeared from view, leaving two boys on one side and three on the other. He tried getting Oliver's attention, but his head cocked high, his eyes concentrated on looking tough through a ridiculously huge beret.

"Not enough, boy. What else you got in that pouch of yours?"

Johnny kept his composure, even though they were clearly trying to take more.

"Nofing else. That's aw we got."

"Balderdash. There's more in there, Jonathan. I can hear it. Troy, check the pouch, and the rucksack too."

In the dim light, David could see Willy tremble. Why didn't we take out the rest of the money before we came in? This lot looked ready to steal a bank!

But the biggest question was: What's Johnny going to say now?

David's ears perked to the back of the room. He heard a thin squeak, not unlike a mouse. Is that a door hinge? Are they going to close us in? Is this… no…is it a trap?

Troy brought the rucksack to the twins. One of them immediately looked up and condescendingly shook his head, slowly, as if to signal disappointment. They were so good at being horrible, greedy people, and David barely even knew them.

"Why did you lie to us, Jonathan? We were on such good terms."

"We didn't. You asked us to bring you fat amount. And we did! We gave ya ve money. Doesn't mean you take more."

"Maybe, but you're in our place now. We need to keep this place in order. And our business needs to be kept up. Bribing takes a lot of pounds, Jonathan."

_Calling us by our proper names, is he? Now they really sound like grown-ups. I don't trust them. Then again, when did I? _

The leader twin said: "We'll just have to take the lot."

The pouch's contents were poured onto their table to whoops of glee. Johnny was speechless, the Willy continued to tremble and Oliver put his face in his hands. David had been shocked before, but became too confident to care. At that point, anger flowed through his fists. He had never seen a single bit of that money after he deposited into the pouch and only kept a couple of ten pound notes that he snuck out of his "share".

One of the twins noticed his face and decided to taunt him.

"Well, aren't you just the brave one, little piss head? Got anything on you too?"

He still had that twenty pounds. Yet he unsentimentally took it out and dropped it to the ground at his feet. His confidence turned to heartlessness.

"Pick it up and bring it here."

He shook his head and kicked it towards them. "You take it."

The rest of David's group turned in shock. He had the gall to call the twins out! One of the twins exploded with rage.

"How dare you, bloody little _TWAT_—"

"Now, now. Don't get so mad—" The other twin tried calming him.

David could see through their silhouettes.

"What? I gave it you, didn't I?"

The other Lost Boys huddled together behind him. They had seen this heartless side of David before, and when it went bad, it went really bad. It's how he had got that black eye before.

"Bring it here now, you filthy orphan."

He looked down at the money, then back at the two of them, with a grin.

"I don't take orders from codfish like you."

The group in front of them stirred in shock.

Then they gave a motion to someone behind them. David knew what could happen next. The moment they turned their heads up to the door, he bolted for it.

Then the room went dark. The lamps had been extinguished. He heard everyone tense up in terror.

"Grab him! Don't let that pathetic child get away!"

_Oh no—. Which way led out? _

The next few seconds were chaos. A table smashed, punches sounded, grunts forced out; he heard recognizable screams.

His heart beat out of his chest, his lungs grabbed for air as guilt settled in. He had to get out of that dark room.

"Davey," he heard Nathan whispered, "I'll open the door. Go!"

A sliver of light pushed through a crack in the door. David bolted for it, every muscle pushed to the limit and tensed for impact. He didn't know that the door opened directly to the outside so when he rushed to the light, he knocked it wide open. He stumbled out onto stone stairs, with nothing but a strong push to get out, to somewhere safer, anywhere but there.

"Nathaniel, you fool! Close it up! Don't let them get away…"

David thought he heard others spill out after him, but he bolted down the block by that point. He didn't take a breather until he covered enough distance. For a second time, he felt all alone. But this time, he wasn't so scared. He had changed significantly since running away the first time. He knew he became more confident. He would—

_Ouch! What the—? So much pain, coming up too quickly! What hurts? _

Tremendous pain stung his left shoulder while he noticed a hole torn in his right knee, revealing a growing bump and bright red cut. Already it took a lot more effort than normal to move his right leg.

_How on earth am I going to get better?_

He couldn't steal medical supplies; he would be too slow. And he knew of no one in the area.

_How am I going to eat? Sleep? What am I going to do—? _

Then he remembered—

_Wait. That man a while back offered to help? In that really nice courtyard… Ivan… Jacob…What was his name? Ich…Oh! Ichabod! In that… that courtyard behind the marketplace! Yes, that's where I'll go! Maybe he can help me. It's worth a shot. Now I just have to get there without being seen. _


	6. Chapter 6

The thin sunlight slapped them all awake. It was an especially cold November morning, as the frost decorated every windowpane and froze every ounce of breath on their lips. Luckily they were in some sort of shack in Islington, outside of London, their bodies covered with stolen jackets.

"Everybody still alive?" David was the first to stand up, still wearing his hat and the orphanage uniform. Besides for slightly growing out of his clothes, at that point he looked like one of them - he proudly wore the dirt on his face and the matted down bangs that reached down to his eyes. He had grown since he first joined them, now slightly taller than Oliver, but still had his high-pitched proper-city voice and all of his baby teeth.

"Yeah. Willy's still 'ere." He pretty much stayed the same, except for the black eye; it switched eyes.

"Ughhhh, Oliveh's h-h-h-'ere." He had lost one of his front baby teeth in a scuffle a week ago, and now wore a beret to warm his head.

"What kind of a stupi' quest'n is that, Davey?" Johnny had slimmed down- after doing much scouting around town- but had as chubby of a face as he did before, his head covered in a wool hood. Somehow, he always seemed to know what was going on in their mad world.

"Just makin' sure we're all okay. You know wha' 'appened to the other group. One of them died an' they didn't even know it 'till after they all tried to leave. It makes me feel good."

"Yeah, like getting tha' last punch on Tony yesterday. That really 'elped us make a few allies."

David glared at Johnny. "Shut up, Johnny. He was so annoying about how I talk. You know you wanted one too."

He shrugged in agreement. "'Es got'a point. So, the usual everyone?"

"Yep."

"I'm game."

"I'm ready."

"Then let's go. Before we mee' the twins."

"Yeah. An' befo'e the owna finds us."

They snuck out of the shack and into the brightening morning as they backtracked to London's city center and marketplace, using markings and pieces of scarves on light-posts. David remembered the first time they had walked at dawn. He was not used to waking up so early, so his legs ached from fatigue and his head hurt. Yet now he was used to it.

They kept flowing through the tiniest alleys, the smallest openings in walls, just to avoid the public eye and the bobbers. David now moved next to Oliver, with Willy and Johnny not too far behind, so when they split up into groups to mooch a fancy breakfast café in the richer part of the neighborhood, the guests wouldn't know what was coming. It was a common technique amongst the orphan groups. There would be ruckus generated by the faster boys, while the slower ones took the rest while they weren't looking. It was fool-proof, usually. Today would be a good one. He felt it.

David and Oliver went inside first, weaving through the tables, snatching up not only sweets but even wallets. He had gotten so much better at snatching wallets, Oliver thought that he was better than him, even if he had joined only a few weeks before David showed up. At that point, it just became a contest. However many they took, they both loved the reaction behind them, almost as if a carriage had crashed through the place, horses and all.

"Goodness! Filthy mongrels!"

"Ahh! James, watch for those rats!"

"They got me wallet!"

"After them! Police, do SOMETHING!"

"Oh, my HEAVENS! They took the _good_ jam!"

They would laugh about it later, but they couldn't at that point. They took off and covered themselves in an alleyway before circling back to the hideout and sharing their breakfast. David never liked saying grace, so nothing stopped him from chowing down on the biscuits- the stolen, sweeter kind.

"So why are we goin' to the twins again?" David remembered the last time they had met. It was when he got the black eye from a stray punch.

Johnny looked up after wiping the crumbs on his face with his sleeve.

"There's a new judge in town. Rumor is they know which terri'ories he goes fo' fi'st. We need to know wheh so we could dodge him, and the'e askin for money. We go' enough?"

"Plenty. From today alone, we got enough."

"Then let's move. They wan' us the'h by the time Big Ben strikes seven."

"But I haven't finished yet." Willy was so tired, he looked like he was wobbling even when seated.

"You gree'y scut. You'll be better off to run if we bail from 'ere now, wi'out your gut so full."

They fly on the move again, avoiding the public roads- and grown-up's eyes- and slipped through alleyways, passed other groups of boys- lost, just like them- and were embraced by London's busy mornings.

The traffic of carriages and bodies made it difficult to squeeze through, especially when the meeting place was where Johnny called "the Big Bells" were- the center of town.

The center of London. David had heard about it. It even used to be in his dreams. He heard about the massive river that ran through it, the huge towers jutting up to touch the sky. It was majestic and big and mysterious at any other time. Now it just seemed threatening, the huge clock tower looking down on them as if it knew what they were. For a second, David thought that it might even be a watchtower, waiting to snitch on them to the bobbers once they put their guard down.

They got to the meeting place before anyone seemed to call for them. Johnny showed them through a hidden door behind one of the grey buildings, tucked away from view behind the fireplace that jutted out, like the building grew it later on in life. Once down there, Johnny motioned for us to do one thing; keep our mouths shut. He was the best at talking than the rest, so the group understood. For all they knew, he could talk a wallet out of a pair of trousers.

There they were, staring down on them as they walked through the entranceway. The lamp behind them cast an eerie shadow of the twins, as well as the other three beside them. This wasn't like the last place they had "met", rather a new place they made for themselves. While it might have been an illusion to petrify anyone who entered, they didn't need to fool anybody; the boys were actually bigger than all of them- even more than Johnny.

The twins wore the most suitable clothes for their swindling; jackets and pants so filled with greys and blacks, with bright ties hanging loosely off their necks. Rumor was that one of them even killed someone.

The boys surrounding them didn't look too shabby either. Their hair was cut down to their heads, their narrow stares visible from the candle light and dirty white shirts rolled up their sleeves. It didn't seem right that boys so big needed even bigger friends to help them. One of the other boys kept looking towards David. Then he recognized him. He didn't know how. But he couldn't help it.

"N-Nathan?"

All the boy did was put a finger to his own lips.

"Well," One of the twins growled in a deep voice, the innocence sucked completely out of it. "You made the deal. You've got the money?" He spoke in a high-class accent too, as if he was born rich.

Only Johnny had a chance with words. "Give us wheh th' Judge be searchin', and the money's all yours. Show 'em Willy."

With quick precision, he took out their collective pouch and showed them the exuberant amount they requested. Nathan, supposedly brought the money to the other twin. He examined it while the others kept their eyes on all of them.

Then David realized that one of them had disappeared. He tried getting Oliver's attention, but he was too concentrated on looking tough.

"Not enough, boy. What else you got in that pouch of yours?"

Johnny kept his composure, even though they were clearly trying to take everything they had.

"Nothin' else. That's all we got."

"Balderdash. There was more in there. I hear it. Troy, check it."

David felt Willy turn pale white. As fast as he was, he knew that some ruffles of pounds got away. _Why didn't they take it out before they came in? They looked ready to steal a bank!_ The biggest question was: _What was Johnny going to say now?_

David's ears perked to the back of the room. _Was that a door hinge? Were they going to close them in? Was this… no…it was a trap?_

The boy called Troy brought back the pouch to the twins. One of them immediately looked up and condescendingly shook his head, slow enough to push the perpetrators into guilt. They were so good at being horrible, greedy people, and David barely even knew them.

"Why do you lie to us, Johnny? We were on such good terms."

"We di'n't. You asked fo' tha'. And we _did!_ We gave ya' the money. Doesn't mean you can take any mo'."

"Maybe, but you're in our place now. We need to keep this place in order. And our business. It needs to be kept up. Bribing takes a lot of coin, Jonathan. (_They call others by their proper names? Now they sounded like grown-ups. I don't trust them. Then again, when did I?) _We'll just take this all."

The pouch's contents were poured onto their table, to another boy's open glee. Johnny was speechless, Willy was white in the face and Oliver's eyes covered his face. David was shocked before, but he was too confident to care at that point. He never saw a single pence after it went in and only kept what he snuck out of his "share". One of the twins noticed his face. Big mistake on his part.

"Well, aren't you just the brave one, little piss head? Not surprised, are you? Then you must be hiding something. Got anything on you?"

Surprisingly, he still had those twenty pounds. Yet he unsentimentally took it out and threw it to the ground by his feet. His confidence turned to heartless frustration.

"Come pick it up."

The rest of the group turned around and didn't know what to be shocked about: that he had twenty pounds or that he had the gall to talk down to them. The other twin tried calming the other one down. David could see through their silhouettes.

"Now, now. Don't get so mad-"

"How dare you-"

"What? I gave it to you, didn' I?" The rest of his group looked very tense. They had seen this heartless side of him before, and when it went bad, it went really bad for all of them. It's how he got that black eye in the first place.

"Bring it to us now, filthy orphan."

"I'm pre'y sure you can afford to do that yourself. We can't no more."

"Well, then. If you won't then, you'll be forced to." They were taken aback by David's defiance and resorted to only the best method.

"How will I-"

Then they gave the motion to the back of the room. He knew what was coming.

The moment they turned their heads up to the door, David bolted for it. Then the room went dark. The lamp had been extinguished. David suddenly tensed up in terror.

"Grab him! Don't let the rest get away!"

_Oh schweest. Which way was the exit?_

The next few seconds were chaos. He heard the table smash, punches thrown, grunts forced out, even a few recognizable screams. The fright wasn't worth being a part of such a nasty world. He didn't feel like he belonged here anymore. He not only realized the trouble he got for everyone else, but how much danger he had put himself into at that point. He had to get out of that dark room.

"David," he heard Nathan whisper, "I'll open the door. Go!"

Then he saw a sliver of light come from a crack in the door. He bolted for it, every muscle pushed to the limit and tensed for the impact. Little did he know how the door opened to the outside, so when he rushed the guard, he not only barreled him over but knocked the door completely open. He stumbled out onto the stone stairs, but didn't feel anything but a strong push to get out, to somewhere safer, anywhere but there.

"Nate, you fool! Close it up! Don't let them get away…"

He thought he heard others spill out, but he was around the block at that point. He didn't take a breather until he was in another alleyway. For another time in a year, he was alone again. But this time, he wasn't so scared. He had changed significantly since he had ran away the first time. He was more confident. He was- _Ouch! What the-? So much pain. Coming up too quickly! What hurts?_

He suddenly felt tremendous pain on his left shoulder, then noticed that a hole had been torn through his right knee, revealing a growing bump he knew would bruise. He didn't expect it, so it was much harder for him to move.

Then he began to panic. How on earth was he going to be able to get better? He couldn't steal medical supplies because not only had he become slow but no one else was around to help him. How was he going to eat? Where to sleep? What was he going to-

Suddenly he remembered-

_Wait- Who was that guy a while back that offered to help? From that really nice courtyard… Ivan… Jacob…What was his name? Ich…Oh! Ichabod! That was it! He was in that… that courtyard behind the market place! Yes, that's the best bet to go to! Maybe he can help me. Well, it's worth a shot. Now we just have to get there without being seen._


	7. Chapter 7

He didn't know how hard it was to weave through alleyways like he did with healthy limbs. But sooner or later, when the sun was close to turning in for the day, he found the marketplace, and snuck through the shacks and shops to reach the garden behind them, refreshingly green and full of life. It was only a matter of time before he found the only store with Ichabod's name on it.

As he went closer to the store after turning a corner outside of the garden he noticed someone sitting just outside, ominously, almost as if just a shadow. He was sitting with his back to the alleyway, facing down into what appeared to be one of his books. Suddenly, he felt a chill race down his spine. Now he knew how Oliver felt, except he didn't feel like he was being watched. It was a feeling that this wasn't a good idea, which it would only lead to trouble. Then again, he HAD offered before, and at this point he just needed a place to stay and heal. Food wouldn't be a problem after his knee got better.

Then the old man looked David's way, and the chills resumed.

"What's your name, boy?"

David took a step back, almost in a limp, in alarm.

The man didn't seem to move. All he did was put down the book.

"I can assure you, I won't hurt you, nor get you caught," The man said calmly, in a raspy warm old voice. "I know children like you and believe me I don't mean any harm."

For some reason, David felt too scared to say anything, not even an "okay".

"Holten, by the way. Ichabod is my first name."

David, in a fit of what must have been sheer over-confidence, spoke without thinking. "Ichabod...Holten, huh? What a strange name-" _Oops._

David quickly clamped his mouth shut with his hands, eyes wide in an embarrassed expression.

Yet, to David's surprise, the man chuckled! He stared, open-mouthed. _"Is this man mad?" _

Ichabod replied, "I've gotten that a lot. Almost every child that has stayed here has told me that. What kind of a name is Ichabod Holten?"

He continued to chuckle in a raspy voice, which calmed David down immensely but kept him on edge.

"Yet it's as much of a name as… what did you say your name was?"

He was much calmer now. "David."

"Well… David what?"

"Well, that's it. Just David."

"I see... So they didn't give you a last name at the orphanage?"

"No- Wait. How did you know?"

Ichabod sat up from his chair. "You must be joking. Your outfit practically gives it away. You're lucky you weren't found by any policemen!"

David looked down and shrugged. He must have been that good at hiding.

"Anyways," Ichabod said. "My name is just as much of a name as David."

The light from one of the streetlights had gone on and shined into the whole corridor, as well as onto both of them. Ichabod's face looked like it was aging at a graceful pace, with strong blue eyes supported with visible bags of flesh, even from afar. His hands, as well as the rest of his body, looked like they were once full of strength and skill, but had aged and now looked frail and accomplished. Yet unlike any other old man David had seen in his life, Ichabod was _smiling _as he leaned against the store's entranceway.

"So what brings you here, David?"

"Well," David began. He started limping forward dramatically to get more sympathy.

"You had offered me a place to stay. Well, I need help. My leg was hurt and-"

He realized that the limping didn't help; Ichabod's eyes stayed focused on the boy's face, so he stopped and instead truthfully hobbled over to him.

"I don't know anywhere else I can go to. Please help me."

Ichabod gave a quick look to his leg, which looked like an actual injury. Yet there was something David didn't know about the old man that he would soon find out. Ichabod was not a push-over. He had been once, and never again.

"Who says you are not taking me for a fool?"

David was taken aback. _But he looked like a nice person. He had even offered._

"I've risked my dignity letting ingrates like you take refuge here. If you be taking me as a gullible old man, then you're not welcome here."

"B-b-but Ichabod, I'm not. I-" David stopped when Holton gave him a dirty look.

"Then what was that with the limping? Trying to squeeze a good tear out of me? To get a quick ticket to refuge by getting sympathy? You were attempting to fool me, so be gone. Leave. Now."

David was shocked and marred with panic. _Wha…How could…no…no…_

He didn't even notice that it had been five and a half months since he cried. He had kept it in, even after all of the abuse, all of the pain, all of the hardship. Yet now, tears blurred his sight and the sobs came up again.

"I… din't mean to… I just needed… some help. Please sir…let me stay here, just for tonight…please. I'm…I'm…I'm sorry."

Meanwhile, he had turned back to his book. "I told you once, I won't say it again. Go away-" He didn't finish, because David had painfully limped closer to him, expecting that answer. He wasn't confident as before, yet he felt he didn't need it.

He had something else, and it came out with his words as he shoved down the book and spoke directly at his face.

"BUT…YOU…PROMISED, Ichabod! I remember you offered your place as a hideout to my friend and me if we needed it. So maybe I was returning the favor to you, because you were the one who lied first." He never felt so much in control, regardless how much his eyes were filled with tears.

Yet the other person was unfazed. Ichabod looked up at him with his dark blue eyes… and shook his head with a smile. David didn't know what to expect.

"You're not as heartless as the others I've seen around here."

At that moment David realized that his accent was different than everyone else's.

"So answer me truthfully," Ichabod said, leaning forward in his chair. "What is an orphan like you doing around here?"

David didn't show it, but he was too scared to disobey anyone again.

So David told him everything that had happened, summing up what had been going on over the past few months into a few sentences, while Ichabod listened, sitting back in his wooden chair, almost too relaxed.

"I see. So you left the orphanage in order to escape a fight and punishment?"

David nodded in blank-faced shame, his body bent over in the chair, his head almost touching his knees. But he didn't expect what came next.

"Well, that doesn't sound very gentlemanlike. Aren't you taught never to run from a fight?"

David looked confused. His head rose up a bit, to look up at Ichabod's face.

"No. We were never taught that."

"Oh."

"It was implied though," David guessed.

"I see. I might not be able to help with the punishments, but maybe I can help you with that."

David was skeptical. "How so?"

"I can teach you to fight."

He could only be grateful to his new host, but the truth was…

"Thank you, Ichabod. But I already know how to fight, somewhat…"

"Then if you knew, why did you leave?"

"Well, I learned how to fight while away, so now I know. The fact is, I'm never going back there again."

"Understood. Now, do come in. Please. Where are my manners?"

As he limped inside, the smell of old paper hit him in the face. He wondered where that came from, but then his eyes adjusted to the low light and found the source.

The shop was FILLED with books, from top to bottom, stack upon stack, piled up like the buildings outside, so much so that this small shop, as well as the storage area behind the counter, looked like a miniature world.

"That's what happens when you don't have enough room for your book collection," he chuckled, noticing David's wide-eyed stares at the whole arrangement.

"Wait here. I'll find something to make you a bed. I know you hurt yourself." He walked briskly through the piles and climbed a flight of stairs hidden by a few stacks.

That left David alone in his city. He slowly walked through it like a giant, looking at the covers of the books.

_BryimcoHSihc[oih .__Ťŋō£€ü±. _

It didn't take long before he gave up. After all of those lessons, he still couldn't read.

"Ichabod, what are these books about?"

"Can't you read the spines?"

"Well, um, no sir."

"Are they that damaged?"

_Should I tell him? … Then again, why should I lie about this?_

"No. I just can't read."

Ichabod dramatically dropped what he was doing and rushed to him, as if the boy had gotten hurt or something.

"You can't read?! You, the boy who miraculously ended up at a bookstore, _cannot read?!"_

David looked down in annoyed embarrassment.

"Yes, yes. You don't have to be so insulting about it."

"Insulting? Me? No, not at all. I just find it very ironic. It's like being in a duel and you don't even know which side of the sword to hold. How much do you know?"

"Just the alphabet. I know some Latin, for some reason."

The older man scoffed, blowing the dust off the books nearby.

"Church teachings, they never help in the outside world. Here, you see the letters?"

And for the next while, he tried giving David a quick lesson in English but to no avail.

"Well, you're missing out. Here's a great one: _Sir__ Robin and his Blaxburt__."_

"What's a blaxburt?"

"Exactly. It piqued my curiosity too, when I first picked it up. That's how they get you to read it. The give you a peek into the world they've made, the size of the eye of a needle. It's up to us to go further in, and sometimes it's too easy."

As he opened the red-covered book to the first page, David wondered out loud:

"Ichabod, could you read that story to me?"

He looked up from the book down to his new "helper".

"Tell you what. After we finish the work quota for today, I'll read it to you. Deal?"

"Deal." For some reason, David was a little excited. He wanted to know what a blaxburt was.

And so the day passed like a fleeting dream. It took no time at all for Ichabod to start reading, resting in his rocking chair while his audience sat cross-legged at his feet. The story began in the wild islands of Peroquai, somewhere between England and America, where a knight, names Sir Robin was sent by the Queen to explore new lands. A mighty storm blew in mid-voyage, but through his cleverness, they passed through it without as much damage to their fleet. Once they landed in the island, he was marooned by the evil crew and ended up befriending a strange-looking cat with a long face and a club in place of a back leg. And it was here that Ichabod stopped.

"Wait, don't stop! What happens next?"

"That will be for another time. Anyways, it's getting late. You should eat something before laying down. Sleeping on an empty stomach is an awful thing to feel."

David was used to sleeping hungry. It was painful to feel at first but he needed to if he was going to survive.

Yet he didn't need to survive. He needed to get better.

So after they shared a roll and a glass of milk each, his body welcomed sleep with open arms. It was the first time in months that David slept under real covers, where he truly felt secure and warm before falling asleep a few moments after his head touched the pillow.

…

He never slept so deeply in his life. It felt like he slept forever, a warm, tropical-like aura cozying him into breezy breaths and relaxed eyes. And when he finally awoke, when the sun had already begun its stroll across the sky, he never felt more refreshed. Then he moved his legs to get up of the floor and-

_It's gone. The pain is gone! How on earth-_

He checked his knee, through a growing rip, to find that the bump had gone down and his knee had quickly discolored from deep blue to light purples. Interestingly, his knee had come to look like the sky from his old dreams. Speaking of which, he hadn't had any of those for a while. Maybe they went on vacation.

As he put weight on the leg, it felt more manageable. He could walk more now- to his amazement. He practiced as he walked to the front of the store, to find Ichabod sitting on a stool behind the counter, sipping a hot drink.

"David! Good morning. I thought you'd never wake up."

"What time is it?"

"About 10 o'clock. You- wait, you can walk now." Ichabod deserved to look at him suspiciously.

"I know. I can't explain it either. It must have healed overnight."

"Not that quickly. You got it yesterday, right? Let me see."

He gasped with surprise at the healing knee, which looked very injured just last night. And he smiled. Now David looked concerned.

"It did heal! Very quickly too. You- well- you must be gifted or something."

"I'm not. I might have a different look than everybody else, but that's it."

"You don't get it, David. When I got hurt like this, it would take days to do what took you overnight. Something very miraculous."

"Okaay. So what do we do?"

"Nothing. It's just between us. Can you walk well now?"

"Yes. Why?"

"We need to get some things to eat, then I need your help around the shop. You know, with organizing the books. When we finish, you can read as much as you want."

So for the next couple of days, as he knee got better, that's how the schedule was. David stole meals for each of them and helped Ichabod organize the shop, to turn the city into an organized village. Afterwards, they would be read _Sir Robin_, mostly outside in the garden when the sun was turning in, until he felt tired.

It didn't take long to reach the climax, when Sir Robin fights the army of the wicked King Jasper for his beloved blaxburt- named Harlu-, which is held in in his castle. While Johan escaped the confines, his master unknowingly clashed swords with the guardsmen and eventually the King himself. David saw it all so vividly in his mind, down to the knight's freckles. He even daydreamed about the story while working on the third day, imagining himself fighting alongside the knight. After he finished work in the store, he sat outside and watched a group of men watching a swordfight.

"I wouldn't be that much help to Sir Robin if I couldn't do that."

"What are you talking about?"

"Sword fighting. When you read it to me, I wondered what it must be like to swordfight."

"Would you like to know?"

"Know… how to sword fight?"

"Yes, David. I can teach you."

"You can- wait, _what_?" David's head perked straight up to meet Ichabod's face.

"I can teach you how to fight like a real gentleman."

David was impressed. This old man, who seemed to be a worn-out book lover, happened to know about something he never knew about until then.

"Well, business is doing well enough to close up for the day. How about we begin your lessons right now, David?"

"Really? Well, um, sure. Great! Let's go. I assume you have equipment?"

"Yes, in a shed outside. That's not saying I've used it recently. By the way, want to know something about the courtyard?"

"Yes. What?"

"It was meant to be where everyone else threw away their junk, but a few of us loved open spaces too much for us to leave it a heap," he said with a proud smile on his face.

After he went with Ichabod to gather up the equipment, he was given a sword to hold, to get a feel for the weapon.

The sword was heavy, with a worn out wooden handle. But the blade was shined and beautiful, as if carefully and lovingly cleaned, but never sharpened.

They faced each other, one a slower pro, the other as amateur as it gets. Before they did anything, he taught David the first thing before any duel; the courtesy to bow to each other.  
"I don't get it," David said, slightly confused. "If we're about to attack each other, why be so courteous?" Ichabod didn't answer.

He showed David how to parry, to attack, to feint, to use the opponent's strengths as weaknesses and how to stay calm mid-battle. During each quick-lesson, they would have a quick duel. After multiple small duels, David realized how much better he was getting.

A couple of days passed, and he never felt more energized and excited to greet the day. Yet no matter how early he awoke, Ichabod always sat at the window of his small kitchen, hidden from the way of the alley, sipping a strong morning tea. But something happened- Ichabod looked at him with shock.

"Ichabod, what happened?"

He searched for the right words as he spoke.

"Well, David, uh… your eyes… they…"

"They what? What happened?"

"They're different. They look lighter."

"…HUH?!"

Ichabod showed the boy a mirror, and sure enough, blue slivers had grown in his eyes from the edge and center, making them a shade of blue-hazel. They both were at a loss for words. The poor boy was especially scared out of his wits.

"…Ichabod, what's happening to me? Am I sick? Am I going to die? Is this permanent? Why is this happening?"

"I don't know of any disease that changes eye color. I don't believe you're going to die. Heaven know if it's permanent."

Then Ichabod realized-

"If it is permanent, will anyone recognize you? Will the people in the Orphanage recognize you?"

It was a feeble question, but he could see in David's huge, changing eyes that it seemed like a good thing. He decided to take his mind off of his eyes- after all, he could still see perfectly.

While they weren't dueling or reading, the little boy would enjoy his new playground, without a care in the world. He ran across his new paradise, climbing the biggest trees and skipping through the grass that poked up from the ground.

At one point, he even taught himself to tumble. Then he got brave enough to cartwheel. To Ichabod's surprise, it didn't take him that long to flip in the air, then flip even higher, then do it over and over again. Even the old man didn't know what to think of it.

Soon he was trying different ways to climb up a wall, or flip over it. Then he brought his sword into the fray and slowly learned to flip while holding such a heavy object. He couldn't explain how he was doing all of these things, but all he knew was when he tried those things out, he was too confident to care what others thought- he could do anything. He didn't realize that when he kept having those feelings, his hair got lighter and his eyes shimmered with new colors of blue and green.

Later on, after another few days, the duels got longer and more intense. Each one of them got the upper hand before losing it, only to retrieve it later. As the days progressed even further David seemed to get better and better, to the surprise at the other men sitting in their garden. Later on, he was winning every duel, even with tricks he couldn't name yet. He periodically had the momentum to flip around his opponent, using a dodge to tumble to the weaker side. This spectacle attracted all of the men to come watch. They jokingly taunted Ichabod about how he was losing to a little boy. Then Ichabod would hand them a sword and watch them get narrowly beaten as well.

During and after the duels he constantly reinforced every trick. He learned to recognize ones he didn't understand, with newfound grace and force he never knew he had before. After one of the later duels, instead of David getting winded and exhausted, the roles switched. Now Ichabod, given his expertise, was the one panting, a look of disbelief and pride, while the other showed off his brand new confidence. David never felt so tall in his life, especially when others applauded on the good show they saw.

"I knew it! You're a natural, David!" He exclaimed happily.

"I am? Well, after all this time, I guess I am!" David couldn't help but be amused at his discovered talent, feeling incredibly poised as he rebalanced the sword in his hand. Then he had another crazy idea…

"May I ask you of a favor, Sir?"

"Of course," Ichabod said while still breathing heavily. "What is it?"

"Do you have any smaller swords that I can use?"

"What? But you've barely gotten how to use the sword yet."

"Really? You really think so?" David arched an eyebrow, a smooth snicker formed at his mouth's corner.

Ichabod returned a smug look back to him. The men couldn't believe what they were hearing.

"Okay, David. Though it's only been a week or so." He took out a smaller sword from the cylinder.

"Let's see how you do with a smaller weapon. I'll cut that confidence down to size," he said as he gave David the dagger. To him, it felt much better than the sword, with a lighter and shorter blade than before.

To Ichabod's, and David's, surprise, the dagger did wonders for him, allowing him to practically dance circles around his teacher, swinging, clanging and twirling with the utmost of ease and skill. He ended the duel in record time, immobilizing Ichabod in minutes. Ichabod was very impressed, while hiding a sense of embarrassment over losing to a young boy who just learned how to swordfight.

The sun began to set as they both sat to rest their aching bodies. It even caught up to the young boy.

"Well, that was a fantastic lesson, dear David. I must say you are one of the finest swordsman I've ever trained. And after only a few days."

"Thank you, kind sir."

"How about a treat? After supper, I'll bring you to a play."

"Thank you, but what's a play?"

"Hmm, well you are very ignorant, my dear child. It's short for a show that plays at a theater. Now, I insist that you will love it by the time we get back home."

After a small supper, he took him out onto the street, lit only by the streetlights and some windows. It seemed like the whole world was asleep. Ichabod led him into what looked like an average store, except they weren't selling any produce or toys, but… tickets?

"Here you go. Oh, you'll love it, boy. If I could only have three passions in this world, it's plays, sword fighting and books."

He gave a small, satisfying chuckle as they passed through the actual store, its shelves covered with drapes in hopes of avoiding theft. They followed the small crowd bend under an arch and down a short flight of stairs. What David never expected was to see a small stage complete with curtains and plenty of seats in the audience that filled up quickly.

"This is a small theater company, David. They make smaller versions of what's popular, see? The play they are doing now is… 'Peter Pan, or the Boy that Never Grew Up'. Great! I have yet to see that. Here are our seats. Hmmm, I expected the audience to look older…"

Some of the people around them weren't the posh and snobby people that David had expected, rather teenagers, young couples and some bigger families. Their energy filled the room, and he could feel something that he wouldn't understand until later. The audience was only slightly bigger than the stage, which seemed crammed with colorful clothes and pieces of wood. The stage was the only thing that was lit, with two bubs shining on both corners. When they dimmed slightly, the audience instinctively knew to calm down. As they reach their seats, one of the actors steps onto the stage, dressed in clothing that he had never seen a man wear; a bright red robe, shiny green boots and a blue hat, with a gold feather in it.

"Dreamers and lovers of fine art, I welcome you to the beloved Dream Flyer theater company. Usually we have a more…well, a greyer audience (he stopped for the ensuing chuckles), but we're so happy that everyone else heard about this play, so we will not let you down. All we ask, as you all know, is to do what we call the theatre's creed."

He took out what seemed to look like an old piece of rolled up parchment, blew off the dust, and in one fowl swoop untied the string holding it together and unraveled it. He could hear some members of the audience whisper it along with him:

"BEHOLD, though you may be seated, you may feel the wood of the chair under you, you may be acting on this very stage, but the mind will be soaring with dreams and visions of another world. That is the world of imagination, where only believers dare.

"BEHOLD, as you hear the parts, the mission is to keep an open mind. From the young to the old, one thing we can always trust in ourselves is our ability to make our own fantasies, and even turn them into realities.

"HENCEFORTH, when there's a fantasy world, imagine that for yourselves, and the play will bring the fantastic to you."

As he finished rolling up the parchment, his arm floated across the audience, as if sprinkling something over the crowd.  
"Tonight, we shall all hope to inspire you to imagine, and amaze you all at once. Thank you fellow thespians, and enjoy the show!"

The audience clapped loudly, some even hollering and whistling, already filling the room with excitement and warmth. They calmed down fairly quickly after the actor returned behind the bright red curtain.

"Ichabod, what did he mean by 'making our own fantasies into realities'?"

"Hush boy. The play is about to begin."

It was then that David recognized some of the boys from the street. Two of them were in the play, acting as the boys named "John" and "Michael". A girl played "Wendy" and another girl, slightly older, played a boy covered in red leaves named "Peter Pan", which David learned not to care about. The play started slowly, discussing family issues he never had nor cared to deal with.

Then he talked about flying. That got his attention. He's going to fly?

He had told his friends at the orphanage about flying people, but that was in his head. Would he actually see it? That would be something else.

He didn't know that the harnesses pulled Peter up, but when he soared into the air, even a few feet up, David's eyes stared in awe. He was completely and utterly spellbound, swept up in the fantasy with the rest of the crowd. The stage disappeared and in its place was a dream so real that he was scared to blink out of the fear of missing something. The boy and the other three children soared right out of the window into the night sky.

He could feel the wind blowing through his hair, the slight chill sending tingles down his spines. He felt like he was flying with them, on their way to a place called Neverland, where he could never grow up. It was beautiful, lush forests and golden beaches surrounded by blue sky, where adventure waited for you amongst the pirates, Indians and animals. It was a land so dangerous, yet so accepting and exotic at the same time. He felt like he was there, even whispering reactions to what the actors said onstage.

Then the mean Captain Hook kidnapped the Lost Boys and Wendy John and Michael. Then Tink drank Peter's medicine. Her light began to flicker. She was dying. _No! She can't die! She can't!_

"Her light is growing faint," Peter solemnly said as he slowly turned to the crowd.

"And if it goes out, that means she is dead! Her voice…it's so low, I…I can scarcely tell what she is saying. She says…She says she thinks she could get well again if children believed in fairies!" He raised his hands out to the crowd, calling out to them- to him- in dire need. Peter needed his help!

"Do you believe in fairies? Say that you believe!"

The crowd was hesitant. They were so tense they couldn't say a word.

"If you believe," Peter tried a new approach, "Clap your hands! Clap your hands!"

He didn't know who started it, but David knew he had to do something. He clapped as hard and as loud as he could. The whole room erupted in applause, calling out their firm belief in fairies with even firmer ovation. Her light began to shimmer and glow.

David clapped harder, not only to help Tinkerbell, but- he felt something else. The warm sensation coming from inside. The same feeling from before, but in overload. He didn't just applaud- he began to believe that it was possible for fairies like Tinker bell to exist. He didn't know how he got the idea, but it was such a lovely thought, he never wanted it to go away.

Finally her light exploded into the brightness rivalling that of the sun. She flew gleefully around Peter, celebrating her resurrection without a care to those who revived her. The whole crowd cheered and whistled at their success. Peter just had a huge grin on his face. He found something to believe in that night, and he found it in Neverland.


	8. Chapter 8

The story got more intense as he joined Peter in stopping Captain Hook. He wished he had his sword with him so he could jump on the ship and give him another hook for a hand. So instead he quietly cheered for Peter as he confronted the devilish Hook. He was never happier when Peter finally defeated the wholly unheroic figure and sent him into the mouth of the crocodile.

Then he saw the family reunited again, and he felt another tug. He wanted to feel a part of the Darling family, but he kept looking back at the boy in the red leaves, staring into the window from outside. He didn't feel like one of the children; he felt like he was someone like Peter- someone magical, who never grow up, be friends with mermaids and Indians, fly with birds and fight on equal ground with pirates, all with a fairy loyally by his side. He wanted that life, yet he saw him look in to the nursery, watching the family hug and cry over each other like it was something he would never have

"Have you ever read a story like that play?"

"No. It was always a weird story about kidnappings or real mysteries. Never anything about _lagoons flying over flamingoes."_

"I see. So you've never read a story like that?"

"Never. Why, you have?"

"Yes, I have. In fact, I have the book that's based off of the play at home."

David stopped Ichabod with a dropped jaw and wide eyes.

"YOU…HAVE-"

"David, please. We're outside."

He began to feel embarrassed.

"Sorry. (Ahem) You have the _book?!"_

"Yes, of course I do. I got it when it first came out two years ago."

Ichabod never ran so quickly in a while, with his arm almost pulled out of the socket by a tiny energized eleven year old. They got back to the store in record time. It was that moment when Ichabod felt like he had a son again.

"Where is it? Where is it, Ichabod?"

"Um, there, over there, I think. You don't remember putting it away?"

"No, you did it."

"Oh, so it should be there then. That's where I worked-"

"I got it! It's a different name though."

"I know, but that should be it. Does it have a boy in a tree playing a flute?"

"Yes."

"Then enjoy. You've found it."

He stopped everythingto stare at the cover. Inside this book was all of the dreams he had before but put into a book. It was the world he wanted so badly.

He must have stayed up all night lying on his stomach under the streetlamp's light just to look at the pictures in the book. Those images made a world that David never wanted to leave. Even if he did find the nicest grown-ups in the world, it wouldn't match the paradise that beckoned him.

Ichabod had gone to bed while his guest was in Neverland and he would stay there until the dimness of the streetlights finally forced his eyes shut.


	9. Chapter 9

He woke up when windowpanes bounced sunlight into his face. The book's pages folded in awkward creases after being underneath his folded arms. This wasn't where he usually slept, so it took him a second to gather his bearings and stretch himself awake.

Ichabod was still asleep, surprisingly. It must have been that early.

_Might as well surprise him._

He slipped out of the house while the sun was floating close to the skyline with every intention to bring home something special for him. Ichabod said that he hasn't had a good biscuit in months, and David knew the best place to look. By the time he went out onto the streets, he came to know the world within the market place, the different roads that crisscrossed the huge area like they were randomly carved into it by a child.

It hadn't snowed in quite some time, so he was able to walk around without worrying about freezing his toes off. The sun warmed up the winding streets with every passing minute, and David was on the move. He knew where the best biscuits were.

The café looked warm and inviting, with the al fresco tables and chairs replaced by colorful windows. And the smell of baked goods was still there. It was too inviting for him to resist. The main question lingered in the back of his head and pushed itself to the front-

_How will we get out afterwards?_

_…__We'll improvise._

He walked in with another customer, after noticing the "welcoming bell" hanging from the top of the door. He had to act quickly or he would be seen.

The whole room was a dining area, with a corner curved off for the cash register and bakery opening. Next to the counter showed any of the possible pastries available for purchase, all kinds of pasties, crumpets, biscuits and tarts lined up and protected by a curved glass that made everything there seem bigger. Continuing past the glass display was a door that read "employees only".

He would have a better chance with sneaking into the bakery, or so he thought. He snuck in when no one was looking and followed the narrow archway into the heart of the store. Huge ovens, blazing hot, baked the raw dough into floury perfection within minutes. He stood there in a mesmerized trance- he'd never seen anything like it.

Then he saw the tray. Set down on a table too close for him to fight hunger. While the bakers occupied themselves, he slowly grabbed a biscuit, then another, then another, until-

"OY! You! Get your paws of those, you greasy prawn!"

They noticed.

_Time to go._

And right before he could take a bite of one of them. Just one bite. But he got so disoriented he ran in the wrong direction. He heard the clomping of boots get closer down the hallway. He was too scared to eat now, so he stuffed the treats into his jacket pocket and searched for another door. He didn't realize that the hallway was turning to the left, so when he opened it, he was greeted by scared eyes and screams of "thief".

He would have gone into full out panic mode if he didn't get that calming feeling again, the warm rush that reached even the tips of his hair. Luckily the counter next to the register was foldable, not solid, so he slipped through and weaved through the long skirts and baggy pants. He almost made it to the corner…

But a policeman had come in for his morning coffee. He never caught an orphan that fast.

"Alright, boy! Who are you?" He held David by the collar in a firm grip.

"Let me go! I have a home!"

"Yeah, right! Maybe in a gutter somewhere! Your name or you're _dead_."

"D-David… Holton sir."

"Really? What are your parent's names?"

"Um, well… Ichabod. No mother."

"I see. One of his 'guests', eh?"

David's logic got lost at that point as he stared with wide, hazel-ing eyes. The Policeman grew a small grin.

"Have we got here an orphy?"

He shook his head, as if that was going to help.

"Ha-ha! I don't believe it! I got an orphy 'ere! What luck! Paul, save the usual for me, I'll be back soon."

An old man affirmed him back as he started dragging the boy to the station.

"Say, what were you trying to steal, anyway?"

David was surprisingly calm throughout the whole ordeal.

"Breakfast."

"You know, it would be nice if you gave me some of what you got. Maybe you won't be as badly treated as the others." Clearly the man needed his coffee, otherwise he wasn't thinking straight.

He didn't want to do it at first, but-

_It was for Ichabod… Oh, when will I see him again?_

He gave him two of the biscuits.

"That's all of them."

"Good little orphy. You know your place."

David made sure to time his bites with the officer so he wouldn't notice.

Even the station didn't look so bad. The sun reflected off of its low roof, and it looked small even from so close. But it got much bigger when he was shoved in.

Yelling. Crying. Typing. White walls and black bars. David hated the place the moment he walked in. He was forced in front of the dullest man he'd ever seen, whose sole job was to write down everything about each convict.

"Name?" He sounded dull and monotonous.

"David, sir." He sounded chipper, even in here. Must be the confidence thing.

"Date of birth?"

"Sometime twelve years ago."

"Where are you from?"

He had to think about that. "First the orphanage-"

The man perked up.

"Then the streets."

"Oh." The man turned his head down again.

"Hair, eye color?"

"Brown hair, brown eyes."

"Uh, boy that's not brown. Your eyes have a different shade than usual. And your hair isn't all brown either."

"What are you talking about-?"

The policeman showed him a dirty mirror, and it didn't show how he thought he looked. There were strands of pure yellow trickling over the darker strands of brown. Also his eyes developed a complete strand of blue in them, completely turning them hazel. So it was spreading only to those places, yet he felt fine. In fact, _too _fine. He didn't like the station but it didn't scare him.

"I…Uh…"

"Put him in cell 3."

He was shoved into a large sized prison cell, filled already with 10 other boys, who looked at him strangely. He was the only one that sat on the cold bench and stared down at all of the others.

"What is it? What are you looking at?"

_Must be about my eyes._ He shrugged away the stares. He was already used to it.

Most of them were tiny and vulnerable, holding themselves in tight bundles and protecting themselves with eyes as big as shields.

They just sat in different side of the room. It felt like forever before one of the bigger boys asked: "Aren't you scared?"

He turned to him, brushing his dirty blonde bangs away. "Scared of what?"

"Scared of getting sent to a… an orphanage?"

While the other boys shuttered, a chill ran down his spine. He didn't realize the consequences of the situation. Was he getting sent back?!

Yet, he was unnaturally calm about the whole situation. A cool chill blew in through the window, high above climbing distance. He didn't mind. It felt like a calming breeze.

"No. Not really."

"You're not?" Another boy moved towards him in interest.

Another boy peeped in. "Have you been there before?"

"Well… yes."

The other boys came closer, but not all at once. The braver, bigger ones –some even bigger than David- sat near the bench, the others curled up at his feet. He could tell that they wouldn't hurt him. If they tried, he wouldn't hesitate to defend. They were scared.

"What's it like?"

"Um, well…"

_Should I say the truth and scare the wits out of the kids? Or lie? Hmm…_

"It feels…safe."

"Safe? How?"

"Well, you're covered by a roof each night. They give you meals. You can play all you want."

_All you'd have to do is recite a few silly rules to get on their good side._

They weren't buying it.

"Well, then why did you leave?"

David took his eyes away from the group as he gathered up one more lie.

"Because…" He drew a grin at the corner of his mouth. That warm feeling had been with him since he was thrown into the prison. He hadn't told a story in what felt like forever, let alone one that could be real.

"I was adopted."

They didn't expect that.

"You were?" "Who adopted you?" "What was it like, living with a family?"

The questions rose up like waves. All he could do was quiet them down.

"Quiet, you slouches. I'll answer all of them in time."

For the next few hours, from midday on, he told the biggest story he ever improvised. Turns out he had been "adopted" by a rich couple and they were all driven home in one of those fancy new cars, with plush seats and smelled of the mix of sharp cologne and sweet perfume. They arrived at the wealthiest part of London, with high buildings, bright lights and fancy green bushes instead of grass. On the first day, he enjoyed the most scrumptious meals, pasties that melted on his tongue, bathed in the warmest water and slept in goose down pillows and heavy sheets. Even he began to sigh at the fantasy- who wouldn't?

Then, on the second day, he overheard his "Parents" talk about his future; where he will go to school; when he will grow up to get a degree; what job he'll have, what kind of girl he'll marry, where he would end up living and working. Like all of the other boys hearing the story, he never wanted to grow up. He didn't want anything to do with that stuff, even with the sweets and comfy sheets.

"So what did you do?"

"When they came in to tell me, I didn't want to do any of that. They didn't give me much of a choice. So I ran away, down the stairs, past the guard at the door and out here."

"Aren't your parents looking for you?"

"Not really. They could get another one very easily. A Nun actually helped me find a place to stay."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but then that place just happened to be that same orphanage."

"Oh, how terrible!" "Yeah."

"Oh, don't worry," He pushed away the sympathy with a scoff. "I broke out of there too."

"You DID?!" "You can DO that?!"

"Shh! You want the other guards to hear?"

They immediately shut up. The guards had been passing by each of the six cells. Theirs was the quietest, the others full of yelling, a _lot_ of screaming, cursing and crying.

"Sorry. What happened?"

"Well, me and some of my mates found a secret passageway, in the catacombs. We snuck through a whole dark room filled with nothing else but dead people."

A hushed silence amongst the boys. They feared death too.

"W-what happened next?"

"Oh, wait until you hear this. The priests heard us coming up from the other side, and some tried to catch us while still in the catacombs. But we were too fast."

David could see that one of the younger policemen leaned against the bars to hear the rest of the story, his keys dangling loosely from his pocket. Then David got a crazy idea.

"Well, what happened next?"

"Well, I was the fastest of all of them, so I got away. The other ones, they weren't so lucky."

"They got caught?!"

"No, but they would have been if it wasn't for me."

Some of the kids were getting bored. Time to spice it up again.

"What did you do?"

"I… turned back to those grubby men with their claw-like hands," He got up to demonstrate, "lowered my head like a bull, and rammed head on into one of the Priests, sending him head over heels to the ground."

Those bored kids perked up again and turned as David moved the action to the other side of the cell, closer towards the bars, closer to that younger policeman.

"Then I knocked the other one down with my fists." He moved like he was dueling with fists, jabbing and thrusting his arms with each step around the cell. Even the guard was mesmerized.

He turned back to them with another grin. "Then the orphanage's guards came."

"Oh, guards eh?" What'd ya do?" Now the policeman was interested. David saw the keys sticking out of his left pocket. He knew just what to do.

"Well, one of them tried to pin me down, like this." He flattened himself down right by the guard's feet.

"He had my arms held, his face leering over me. I was trapped, or so I thought."

"Did any of the other boys help you?"

"Well, one tried, but the other forced him to leave me. That traitor thought I was a lost cause."

The Guard leaned in closer to see how he would escape. The keys twinkled in the setting sky.

"So I aimed one steady kick, and gave him a 'nutcracker'." He smiled as he said that. Oliver taught him that during one of the fights.

They all started to laugh as David positioned himself against the bars and leaned in with his left arm. The man was still laughing and David had big enough pockets in his pants.

_Weird how there's only a few keys for all the locks, on such a big chain._

"There I am, facing this behemoth of a man, and he's still whimpering for his Mum. Like a big baby." They all laugh again.

"He throws two at my head. I twist down, swing to his right and run around him and straight out into the outside."

The boys looked extremely awed when the guard piped up: "How did you get caught again?"

He expected to hear some petty theft, like what David really got caught for.

David immediately turned around and with a smug smile replied: "I stole the Judge's wallet. Then another policeman's hat. Didn't see the other one on the horse, though. Swept me clear off my feet."

The guard looked mighty impressed as David sat back down on the bench with a grin still on his face. Meanwhile, the policeman left the bars to ask his colleagues where his key-chain went.


	10. Chapter 10

The children wanted to hear more about David's crazy life, but he didn't have much more to say. So he asked about theirs. Some of them came from the slums of London, others from the outskirts. They all became groups like David had before, but they didn't meddle with the politics; they went wherever they wanted, stole anything, and ate anything edible. But they wanted to be free again, to be "lost", out in that world, even if it meant just surviving.

"What's the reason why you want that?"

The oldest boy there, only a few years older than him, named Tony said it first.

"Because you only have yourself and your mates. You might be lost, but you're never alone."

David knew that just as well as them. It was what he wanted to hear.

By the time they became friendlier, joking about the fat policemen and the stupid "codfishes", there was a rap on the bars. Night had settled in by that point.

"Nun's here. Boys, come say a prayer with the Sister."

You could feel the rumble of hundreds of boys raced up to the bars. Tony pulled David up with them as he saw a Nun glide next to each cell. He heard the first one's say a special prayer for prisoners, as well as the Nun bless them.

Then the second cell. Then their cell. And that's when he realized-

_No way. _

_Sister Agnes?! _

He saw her take a longer look at him. He felt her eyes pierce through his changed eyes and lighter hair. Yet she didn't say a word as she moved on to the other seven cells.

Would she recognize him? Would she just leave him there, to be able to fend for himself? Come to think of it, he would be better off if she left him here. He still had the keys.

The other boys had returned to their spots. Some other boy had taken his spot, but immediately moved away as he approached. But before he could sit, as his back faced the bars, she came back.

"My child- Is that you?"

He wanted to ignore her. He wanted to be left here. He didn't want to leave. Yet she was his mother, at least that's what he always thought of her. How could he ignore her?

As he turned and replied "Hello, Sister Agnes," she saw a David that wasn't the same little runt that ran away. Through the moonlight she could see he was taller, with lighter hair and a confident stance.

Before she could get a guard to unlock the door, he slipped the oldest boy the keys.

"Go out early in the morning, when the guards are sleeping. There are plenty of places to seek refuge and I'm sure you know them."

The boy gave a look of shock and awe as he shoved them into his pants pocket.

"W-who are you?"

_After this whole time, they never asked each other's names! How weird. _

He knew he would never see them again, so as he was beckoned out he decided to whisper them some hope.

"I'm Peter Pan. I help boys like you get out of places like this. Good luck." He gave him a reassuring grin as he walked to the entrance of the cell, the only boy that left when the cell's guard was awake and watching the door.

He was immediately scooped up by the familiar Nun as his confidence began to drain like the color from his face.

"My darling child! Why did you leave us? Oh, we must get you back to the orphanage! Look at you- you're filthy! I guess you'll have to bathe and be barbered tonight. Come, we must go before your bedtime."

She pulled his arm to match with her fast pacing out of the police station.

"What about my punishment for leaving?"

She looked down upon his flushed cheeks and bright eyes- the ones she almost fell in love with. "Punishments? My dear, if you come back with me, you won't have any punishments to deal with. No paddling, no dungeon, nothing. You'll be welcomed back with open arms. Like nothing happened."

_He would be forgiven?_ _Like nothing Happened?_

No. It wouldn't be the same. Everything did happen, and in that time he had learned not to trust certain grown-ups. But if he didn't listen to her- what she might do still scared him.

He immediately tried to distract himself from the walk back with memories of the fun he had before. He thought about how he was going to fight John and maybe chase him far away, so his life could get better. Maybe he would swing him over the big black fence.

It took too soon to reach the towering citadel of cold, grey stone. He didn't want to go back, but he was forced to- he would rather pick this place than hell.

They arrived at the orphanage late at night, and came in through one of the big wooden doors.

She said nothing more than: "Thank you for choosing the right path, David," and walked with him up the stairs, beyond the sleeping quarters, where the boys slept in tightly packed rows, to the other bathroom at the Nun's floor.

The other, more disciplinary Nuns forced him to get into a tub of freezing cold water. As much of a nightmare as that sounds, they also scrubbed him down with a brown soap bar and a hardened piece of wool. It took one to cut his hair down to his scalp, even his beloved bangs, and another to rinse his head of any loose strands. While he wasn't able to see the results, he felt the cold air sting the top of his head, like the hair was a sort of shield, as he put on starched pajamas that didn't even fit him well. He was shoved out of the room with a worn-out uniform he was to wear the next day.

His old bed was given to a new boy, a bigger one with as little amount of hair as he did. Instead, he was moved to the one right next to the window, the only one bathed in the light of the outside world; it kept him up at night, as it would to any boy whose nightlight is too strong.

So he looked out again, at the paradise somewhere out there. His family was out there, and they'll travel the world together. Maybe he'll even find a blaxburt…

Yet the world mocked him now, instead of beckoned him. The light from the moon covered the roofs and street in a milky white, like a snow that didn't build up on the walkways and frost the windowpanes. He wondered what Ichabod was thinking…

_Oh no. Ichabod! He must be worried sick about me…_

And what about Willy? And Johnny? And Oliver?

But most of all, as he pulled the rough sheets over his cold, drained body, he began to wonder what would become of him; whether or not he could keep his own warmth alive. But sleep overtook him before he could think too much about it, and next thing he knew, he was on a familiar tower again.


	11. Chapter 11

JUMP. NOW. BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE.  
NO… Not again.  
David was at the ledge again, the brightly lit London skyline open underneath him. One thing was different, though; he didn't have any urge to look down… Nor were the whispers so deafening.  
"Hey, YOU BOY!"- It's that man again! "COME TO ME OR I'LL COME TO YOU!"  
Smash! The brickwork smashed apart again, the triumphant hand still gripped tight with urgency.  
Yet David wasn't as scared as before. It was as if he got a large amount of bravery. He even had enough guts to turn in the direction of the hole and ask-  
"Who are you?"  
No answer. Then-  
"You must come, BOY. Don't ask any questions!"  
After hearing such rude demands, he would have nothing of it. David inched more and more away from the hole.  
"Why NOT?!"  
No answer.  
As David kept climbed further and further away, he couldn't help but ask-  
"What do you want from me?"  
Still no answer.  
David felt a lot calmer after he seemingly stumped the voice.  
Yet what David didn't expect was for the ledge to fall out from underneath him. He had moved too far off the ledge! How foolish of him not to realize!  
As David fell, the screams reached his throat but stopped before they could exit his mouth. He knew that he would either fly or wake up before he would hit the ground.  
There was no reason for him to be afraid.  
A calming and soothing feeling ran through him, filling him with the warmth of the happy thoughts he had during the "discussion" with that man.  
Then… it happened again.  
David was sure of it… was he…? Was he truly FLYING?!  
He wouldn't know, for another frustrating time, because by the time he could comprehend it…  
He woke up. Again.  
His head was still on the pillow. He leaned back up in his bed while his hair, moist with sweat, stuck to his forehead. He felt calmer now, since his body was not going into overdrive.  
Then the horrible reality of where he was when he woke up sank in. He wasn't dreaming this. So he tried to avoid the unpleasant thoughts by pushing them into the recesses of his mind, like putting away toys into their respective cupboards.  
But he couldn't. He looked out the window to the visible line of skyline from his bed to remember what the play was like and those daydreams. So he allowed himself to dream again, and lay back in bed to imagined what that world was like, not knowing whether or not he slept or not. Either way, he wanted to dream. It was where his lovely thoughts were.

The nun that woke up the boys early the next morning found David fast asleep with his arm dangling over the side. It was the first time in a long time when David needed help getting up from bed, be it with a shake or a sprinkle of water. As he looked around for Sister Deborah but she was nowhere to be seen, for some odd reason. Usually this would trouble him, but after all the time of being alone it didn't bother him.  
He was escorted from the Church to the Priests antechamber, shrouded in dark reds and shadows mixed with the colors of books and candlelight. His desk was cleared save for a small pencil and paper. The huge chair was empty and the room smelled of talcum powder.  
Then Father Priest glided in with an upturned cowl and cold eyes. He was a true grown-up in David's eyes; cold, calculating and always ready to strike.  
"Pick up the pad boy," He began. "This shall be your first lesson."  
He slowly picked it up with his thin hands. It was a thin pad, with only a few sheets of paper.  
"Take the pen! And make sure to write everything I say." Father scolded. David helplessly looked at the pen, gripped in his fist upside down so the point was up. All he knew was to make marks with the pointed edge, but he didn't know how to write. Should he tell him?  
"The reason why I picked you to become my pupil is not you're concern. Here's the main point: when I'm finished teaching you everything I know, you will be a light onto this Holy Nation. Let us begin…  
"Childishness is against the laws of the Lord, our G-d. It says in Psalms 37, phrase 25:'I was a youth and also have aged'. Age is the perfection of man, as the Son was older than Isaac when he was sacrificed for our sins, as it says…"  
David tried frantically to make some sense of it all, as he continued about how being a delinquent –like David was over the past few months- was evil in the eyes of the Lord, how if it wasn't for Father he would be eternally doomed and how to fix himself.  
"And so, dearest David, that concludes our first lesson. Put down your paper and pen and leave them on my desk.  
The boy froze in the chair, the hairs on his neck up and quivering. He hadn't written anything down, just a bunch of incoherent scribbles. Ichabod was going to teach him to read and write but-  
"Put the pad down, child. You can go after that."  
David looked up at him, his light hazel eyes reflecting off of his dark brown ones.  
"Give. Me. The. Pad." Father insisted.  
Any confidence he had before was drained from the beginning. He felt any cool breeze on his face as a chilling blast. He was so shamed that he trembled when he returned the pad to him.  
Father's eyes widened as he looked at the mess of a handwriting. What a waste of perfectly good paper!  
"What's this?! What is- David! Tell me…"  
He shoved the paper into his pale face.  
"What Does This Say?!"  
It was a scribble filled with loops and crossing lines.  
"I…I don't know-"  
"And this?! What does it mean?!"  
David never felt so shamed in his life. He felt sobs coming up.  
"I DON'T KNOW!"  
Father retaliated. A smack upside the head knocked David completely by surprise onto the floor.  
"How dare you, speaking to me that way. You're lucky to be alive because of me! I am saving your soul! Damnation is not a matter to tamper with, you mutt! I'm trying to help you, and all you give me is this- this chicken scratch?!"  
He tore the paper out of the pad, ripped it up and threw the pieces on the boy, who was crouched on the floor, his hands over his shaking head, as if that would help defend against the onslaught.  
"I shouldn't have picked you. I shouldn't have let them raise you, giving your tiny mongrel life a chance and letting that disgrace of a Nun raise you! You are nothing and will always BE nothing in the eyes of everyone else! And now you face damnation or finding the savior." He circled around the little boy, like the prey he had months ago.  
"Was I wrong? Should I have let you die?"  
He was holding back tidal waves of sobs as he replied with any amount of dignity left: "N-n-no Father."  
"Was I wrong to have picked you?"  
Father bent down over the boy in condescending fashion. David didn't know it at the time, but Father wasn't motivating him. He was breaking him.  
"N-n-no, Father."  
He picked up the boy by an ear, relishing in the vulnerability, pain, and pure shame covering his face.  
"You will show up later today for the next lesson. I don't care how sick you are, I don't care how sad you are, I certainly don't care about the fact that you cannot write. You will hear what I say and you will remember it for your sake. Otherwise, you will stay here making stupid little cars for children that have families you wish you could have in this world. Understand, boy?"  
David was vainly trying to get out of Father's painful grip and out of the room. He experienced enough torture.  
"Y-Yes Father."  
"Good. See you after lunch. I expect you on time, boy, or else."  
He was shoved out of the chamber with a slamming thud behind him. He heard the door lock faintly behind him as he ran to Sister Deborah's office.  
When she didn't answer the door, he banged on it twice.  
"OPEN UP, SISTER! PLEASE! I need you…"  
Yet that was all it took to push the hard, wooden door slightly open. He didn't know that it was unlocked- yet he was used to it being locked when she wasn't there. Why would she be hiding from him? Maybe she was sent on an errand…  
He walked into the dimly lit room and noticed how it looked like she was just there a minute ago. Books were open on the desk, as well as an unfinished glass of water with a trail of drops where she drank from. As he sat in the opposite chair, he felt the wood warming him better than the plush cushion he was disciplined on just before.  
And with that warmth came a bit of happiness with it. Then he felt like being more curious. He looked behind the desk, where there were small drawers going down the sides.  
There wasn't much to see in some of them- just more books and papers from the Police Department regarding some of the children, Birth Certificates, Adoption papers and the like, he didn't expect to find what was in the last drawer on the left. As he pulled it open, he saw one of the crudest looking pan flutes he's ever seen. On it was a tag: David's first flute.  
She kept my first toy? She really does care!  
He felt so happy as he held it in his cupped hands while cross-legged on the floor of the warmest place in all of London. He found himself putting his fingers on random holes and his mouth to its lips, hearing whatever notes came out. It was a small tune, but he heard it like a fire, warming him up from head to toe. Just playing those small chords made him remember: Peter had a flute too.  
Then he remembered Neverland. And never growing up. And flying. And sword-fighting. And no grown-ups. And a family. Not his parents, but the Lost Boys. And fairies and mermaids.  
He looked down at the flute then around at the room, until he found a long enough piece of string. He tied a knot on each side of the flute, then put it around his neck, beneath his uniform. He was going to escape again and find a way there. And if anything mattered to him more, he didn't know what it was. Because that one thought of everything he dreamed of would be enough to get him there. Little did he know, that he had that destiny- all he had to do was to take it.


	12. Chapter 12

He returned to the room immediately from Sister Deborah's office, disregarding his empty, growling stomach. He was ready to defy his teacher. In his eyes, Father Kenneth was a true grown-up; cold, calculating and always ready to strike. Yet he if he was going to make it to Neverland, he had to be strong enough to face the toughest grown-ups. He knocked on the hard wooden door, waited for him to be beckoned in, and slowly and methodically closed the door behind him. He took the pad and paper off of the desk and sat down before Father could command him.

"I didn't tell you to sit down yet. Stand, little orphan."

He stopped mid-action and slowly stood up. His eyes were still focused on the wooden floor he curled up on just a few minutes ago. He didn't notice Father Kenneth's satisfied grin, his anticipation in grinding the boy down even more. He didn't know where David had been.

"You may now sit, boy. Let us continue. I have tried to teach you about why you must throw away any chance of staying young, as it is against the religion you have returned to…"

David didn't even look up. He stared at the ground, filled with shadows and the flickering light from the candles. He wasn't rattled by his problem of penmanship. He rather heard everything he had said, and to him, it just wasn't as much fun to him.

"… Now I shall tell you what you have in store for yourself, now that you have been given the opportunity to become a priest. The greatest men in history were teachers and Saints that took the burden of the world on their shoulders, staying away from the temptations to atone for their existence on The Lord, our Savior's world. It is our duty to be the guardians of this world, of its men and women."

He barely had any emotion as he spoke, draining all possible excitement David could have had at his involuntary prospect.

"You will be sheltered here or the same reason why all men should. The world is a dark and dangerous place, as you know. People without any code of honor roam the streets, killing and stealing from each other. Now, speak only truths; where did you sleep when you were out there, David?"

He expected to hear all of the places he slept before he got to Ichabod's store, but the last place he slept was-

"Where I had a roof over my head."

This took Father aback and enflamed him.

"Stupid boy! I ask where you slept when you were on the outside of St. Augustine's!"

"That's what I said, Father. Before I came here, I slept somewhere with a roof over my head. And a lot of books too."

Hearing that caused Father Kenneth to lose his momentum. He had to choose another approach to keep him in the rut he so effortlessly did just before. His temples started to ache, and rubbing his fingers to them didn't help.

"Alright…David, I see that you are… too foolish. That's why I had to take you away from that outside world, from the jail you got yourself into in this world and the Hell you could have gotten into in the next. You needed salvation and in your foolishness you sought other refuges, none of the truths!

"After all, it was only a matter of time before you decided to come back- you did so before. Which is why you had to not only have better supervision when you got back, but preparations were to be made earlier on…"

Here was the kicker. He knew the events that transpired: He knew she sought out other Churches behind all of their backs because she was too weak for his commands. Even the fact that a family had specifically asked for the boy that had tried to escape some months back. But David didn't.

"After all, why do you think Sister Deborah left you here? And that we gave that boy that was with you up for adoption that same day? You needed to be ready when you got back…"

But this had the reverse effect. He expected David to cry or curl up in a tight ball like he did last time. Yet there he sat, like nothing happened, like whatever he had said went through one ear and out the other.

"So what? She wasn't my mother anyway. She said that so herself. I always thought she was until I realized I didn't need one." He looked up at him with incurious eyes, with a twinge of satisfaction after seeing Father Kenneth's eyes stare back .

"That boy you mentioned- Were you talking about George? Him? I was only scared because he was my only way of living on the outside. I can handle myself now actually, maybe better without him. Why are you so quiet all of a sudden, Father? Was it something I said?"

Unbeknownst to him, this whole reaction took Father Kenneth so far off guard, he might as well have fallen off his high tower. The boy had become so incredibly heartless in such a short amount of time that he didn't know what to say next. He broke him… in record time! He felt filled with glee as he looked down on his handiwork, his prodigy with strawberry blonde hair and hazel eyes.

He began to teach him more and more, as if the boy wasn't learning enough. But he didn't realize what kind of heartlessness David was feeling. Never would he have expected that the little orphan was not paying attention at all; he was planning a way to escape the clutches of St. Augustine's for good.


	13. Chapter 13

He counted ten new faces amongst the other boys at recess. He didn't know what they were told about him, but he could only guess them; that he was diseased, one side effect being a change in his hair and eyes; that he wasn't forced to work like the rest of them; he left and came back without any problem. But they were all looking at him.

All ten boys looked straight at him while he gazed at the fence. He felt them coming towards him, as a pack of wolves. Someone told them that he was someone unusual enough to be the perfect target.

But he didn't care.

He wasn't looking beyond the fence this time. He was looking up, where the black bars touched the heavens and must have dissuaded many a child from escaping. It was the only way. When he was at prayers in the Church, he saw that the doors were bolted shut; before he returned from Sister Deborah's office, he saw that the broken door at the side entrance of the orphanage was fixed to need a key to leave it. The huge doors at the front were guarded by two burly policemen armed with sticks, like cavemen in uniform.

The only way to get out was up.

"Oy, priest! Looking for the lord?!"

He turned to see who said that. Only one boy of the four was brave enough to come closest. He was taller than David, with a big overbite and dark brown hair. And cold, blue eyes.

But instead of stuttering, he let out an over-exaggerated, exasperated sigh.

"Can you please just give me a moment? I'm not in the mood for this. I'm trying to-"

"Oh!" The boy recoiled dramatically. "He's not in the bloody mood?!"

He turned to the other boys as they all laughed hysterically.

"Not in the mood for a good smacking to take you off of your high place? Think you're better than the rest of us, staring at books while we work our bloody arses off for bread?"

David was at a loss for words while other boys began to notice. As he saw the sticks and stones the three others carried, he realized that this whole scenario was not going to end well. Then he saw the head boy clench a fist.

"Go ahead, priest. Preach peace to us. Let's see how that works."

He looked up one last time. He found the best space to use. He looked back at the boys as they inched closer.

"Sorry boys," He smugly grinned, "but I have an outside to get to."

He leapt up as high as he could, arms stretched way over his head. His left hand slipped, but his right hand gripped the cold bar with all its might. He was still in range of the tallest boy's grip. He swung his legs over to the left and wedged his left foot in a higher hole in. As he began to climb, some boys began throwing rocks while others cheered; they didn't know what to think. No one they remembered had climbed the fence before.

The administering Nuns gasped in horror as the protégé reached the top of the fence. At the time the guards came, most of the boys were cheering him on. He couldn't believe he was so close to escaping. It had seemed so easy.

Then he looked down. The fence had jutted up high above the trees and even further than the street walk. Then the guards decided not to come through the playground but to the other side, the side of freedom. He began to feel a panic as he tried to think what would happen if he tried to reach for the trees a daring jump away.

_David, don't you remember?_

A puzzled look grew on his face. The voice; it sounded like a younger boy, definitely not like him.

_There's always a way. There's always another way…_

Then he felt it again. The rush. The calm breeze. It came all the way over him, warming him against the cold bars. Then the bars didn't feel cold anymore. He didn't feel any of the bruises forming from the rocks.

Then his hands felt tingly. As he looked at them, he noticed golden dust forming around his fingerprints. Then he looked down again at the ground. To his eyes, it felt like it was a short jump. And the guards were nothing but worthless grown- ups.

He climbed up on the fence, higher than the trees, the skyline filling his view. The sun was blocked by clouds brought in by harsh gusts of wind. It felt like a storm was coming, but he only felt the calmest of breezes. All that filled his mind was one calming thought.

_This is the other way_.

He closed his eyes and jumped off. He felt the wind rush through his hair as he was pulled towards the ground… then horizontally, as if there was a rope pulling him across the sky. By the time he tumbled to a stop he was more than a stone throw away.

_Did I just…fly?!_

While he had somehow glided to safety, the only people who knew wanted him back where he came from. He turned away from the screams and gasps of amazement as he vanished into the alleyways in front of him; into the world he only saw from the other side.


	14. Chapter 14

David slipped through the alleyways, making every sharp turn possible, until he was sure the guards wouldn't find him, or even catch up. As he stopped to take a breather, he realized that he had no idea where he was going. As exhilarating as it felt to escape into this side of the orphanage, this was all new to him. Even the streetlamps, dark and asleep during the day, looked like they were staring at him, trying to make sense of him. He had to get out of there fast, but he couldn't back track. The Orphanage was somewhere back there. So he kept moving until the sun was way past the horizon, making any turn that didn't lead to a dead end and any attempt at using the stars for navigation.

Yet the stars led him to a familiar place; a street corner near the…theater. The theater! Where the play was! Where he found Neverland… Wait! Ichabod must be nearby!

Last time he was here, they had rushed back home together so fast that he barely remembered how to get back. But small things lit his way; a streetlamp, a familiar flowerpot in the windowsill, an odd looking wooden door, and then the familiar street sign that hung in front of the store's alleyway. While it could have been easier to just knock on the front door, next to the store's window, he decided to surprise him. He past the alleyway entirely and found one of the shortcuts he had found with Oliver before, and entered the garden, lit by a sole lamp whose orange light towered over the whole place and shone like a second sun, to where the store was. As bright as the sun in the garden was, it didn't shine on the burly looking men knocking on the other door.

He rapped at the door on the other side, to the dismay of the owner inside. The boy heard the usual grumblings of the old man coming, the creaking of the wood underfoot coming closer to the entrance. But unlike what he expected, Ichabod only opened the door a crack.

"Who is- David?! What are you doing here?!"

This took him aback.

"Uh… Ichabod?"

He saw that the old man looked urgent, the streetlight glinting off of his urgent eyes and their supporting bags.

"Get out of here! Go! Before you're caught! They came for you! GO!"

David's eyes grew with his curiosity. One the other hand, his mind was begging his body to move.

"Ichabod, what's going on?! Why are you-"

Then the old man, in a flash of epiphany, retreated inside the store.

"There's no…time to lose. Where is it? Wait there a moment… I have something to give you… Ah! Here it is!"

He stuck his head out of the crack of the door again, this time holding a sheath.

"You earned this sword. Use it to defend yourself. Now, get out of here! Go!"

As he turned away from the old man one last time, he could have sworn he heard the man say, "Fly, son of Pan!", before the other door burst open.

The burly men, dressed in ripped sailor uniforms and mismatched garments from every corner of the world, sprinted through the store, knocking Ichabod away and bursting into the courtyard, only to find a small boy running to the exit. Their target was getting away.

David looked back to see the two men charging towards him, at a supernatural pace. They looked strange, like the pirates from the play and were gaining on him fast. The light was behind them, so he couldn't tell if they were armed, yet they would've shot him if they had guns. He had no chance but to face them. He tied the hilt to his waist and unsheathed the sword. The blade was light and slick, the hilt a worn-out wooden finish that seemed to grow onto the metal and leave intricate markings running up to the tip. It would have to do, even though David would rather keep it beautiful.

He took the stance Ichabod taught him while they lunged at him in unison. The one on the right jumped first, arms outreached without any weapon; they were trying to take him alive. That burly man would be the first target.

He ducked down underneath his jump arc and slashed at the man's arms, landing on his right forearm and slicing as hard as he could. The blade whizzed so fast he heard it whistle subtlety as he felt it strike true. The man tumbled awkwardly in front of him, gripping his bloody arm. The other man, slightly leaner but more patient, unsheathed his own sword and reached the boy. Their blades met in a thunderous collision, reflecting the streetlight like it was lightning. They each gained momentum over the other and then lost it. For the pirate, this boy was someone special. No amount of training could have prepared him for this.

But then David started feeling tired. After not eating since the sun was in the sky, his body was running on something other than adrenaline. Not only that, but they both knew that David's high from beating the other pirate was wearing off; he was feeling afraid. David had to get out of there- fast.

He turned the pirate away from the exit of the courtyard, pushing him far enough to have a head start to get out of there and hide. The first second he was able to leave, he turned away from the fight and started a mad dash to the exit but not before the man tried to slash at him but only to hit the ground where he had stood a second before. But he hit something else that was just as important. Yet David didn't know that as he forced his body to rush forward into the dark London ahead, which was covered in storm clouds and a big chance of torrential downpours.

By the time he checked his surroundings, it felt like he had been running all night long. The only light came from the windows and occasional streetlights, the skyline covered up by dark clouds and flashes of lightning.

Then there was a gap, about as wide as David's fist, like a portal through the clouds. Brilliantly bright stars glowed through the hole, like diamonds on black fabric. Yet it wasn't long before, in that hole in the sky, he saw something new; a brilliantly lit comet streaked across the sky and left a brilliant tail of light and a look of awe on his face.

He thought that he read somewhere that if one sees something like that, they should make a wish, in a special poem so it will understand. Who knew, maybe it was a fairy in disguise? Or maybe that's what second to the right was; the name of a star!

He looked through the hole again, with its shimmering lights and distant moonlight shining through onto the street, closed his eyes and, with a deep breath, made his wish:

_Second to the right, shining bright, won't you grant my wish tonight?_

_If I can't find Peter Pan, help me get to Neverland._

He stood there and watched the hole close up as it passed over him, satisfied that he took the opportunity to make his first wish since his last birthday. He hoped this one would come true; last time he had wished for his own bicycle.

"**You**, boy! **Who are you and where did you come from**?"

Was that…_the man from the dream?! _David froze. He slowly turned around to see who it was. It was site both calming and fearful. A policeman, heavyset with a small beard, slowly approached the boy as he twirled his baton.

David didn't give himself time to think. He ran for it, zooming down the street away from him. The policeman didn't have a chance, and David passed the corner and over the bridge even after he realized that. Meanwhile, the sky became dark, as drops of rain hit the ground. The policeman turned away to go look for some shelter.

But David kept running, and never looked back to see if he was near. The sky rumbled, more rain came down, yet David kept running. The rain became a downpour; he kept running. He wasn't even running from the law anymore; he was running from his old life, from everything he had supposedly held dear, from the place that once was so warm and inviting to being so dark and cold, that he would never want to go near there ever again.

He was so concentrated on running that it took a few blocks for David to realize his condition. His clothes were so soaked they stuck to his skin, water was inside his shoes, and he was freezing.

He was already sleep-deprived and starving. Now he was freezing. He needed some shelter, fast.

Then something kicked in. It felt like a sort of pull towards a particular house. He kept running past house after house until he found one that looked familiar. And it had a big arch over the door, beckoning him to seek some dry ground. So without a care in the world of being caught by a policeman, he stumbled up to the arch and collapsed onto the three stairs, the sensation of being somewhere dry exciting him just a bit. The moment after he sat on the three stairs, he felt a wave of sleep come over him. So poor lonely David, soaked and shivering, curled up and fell asleep the moment his head touched the top step.


	15. Chapter 15

He was the only awake man on the street this side of the river Thames. Even the policemen stopped their rounds, some earlier than others to escape the rain. London was asleep for a short time back then, with the early risers getting up in two hours. Yet Father Kenneth couldn't wait for the rain to stop. He was told so long ago to meet at a certain dock that morning, rain or not. He tried in vain to keep his entire body dry, but by the time he reached the dock, his pant cuffs and feet were soaked.

He was so worried about getting shelter, he had forgotten how majestic his old ship looked. The _Jolly Roger_ swayed gently in the water, shaking off the rain like it was a huge dog. Its sails were neatly wrapped against the masts and twenty cannons contained by heavy wooden windows. There were a few men on the deck as Father Kenneth boarded the ship; three sweeping the deck with brushes and whatever soap was left, two more outside the door he was heading towards. He expected trouble as he reached it, but as they stopped him, all they said was: "You be early. Wait 'ere."

After a few minutes, the guards let him into the Captain's quarters. Since he had been gone, it had gone into serious disrepair; it smelled of rotten fish and rust, and a film of dust and tarnish covered all the metal objects in the captain's cabinets, including a particular hook meant for a big fish or a wrist.

"Sit down, Mr. Smee"

The dry call from the captain caught his attention. He was sitting there, gaunt and fierce with large fingers crossed in front of him on the ornate desk. There were maps strewn across the surface of the desk, weighed down by two compasses, one to see directions and another to draw them.

He took a seat opposite his younger captain. He was a boatswain to his father as well, and he alone knew how alike they were.

"How's the mission going? Better yet, the 'Pan' boy. How are his studies going along?"

In a deep corner of Smee's mind, he had been preparing the answers. In fact he sealed himself up in his room to prepare them.

"Very well, Captain. In fact, I broke him quite easily. I thought it would be harder, given the Latin I forced him to study at an early age-"

"I see," Captain Hook interrupted, "So he's at the orphanage, being kept there like a caged animal ready to be put down?"

Smee looked back at him with a new glint in his deep blue eyes; one with a smile.

"Yes, sir. Ready for you like a fatted pig."

The Captain wasn't replying the way Smee expected? What had gone into him? Was it the rotten smell?

"Captain, with all due respect, I think the smell in this cabin has clogged your senses. Might I open up a window…?"

"It's not the smell, Smee!"

The captain got up from his seat, knocking it on its side and made Smee stand up in alarm, his smile fading slowly.

Captain Hook bent down and lifted a small chest onto the desk. It was squirming slightly, vibrating on the table.

"Explain THIS!"

Smee's smile turned to utter confusion. "Captain, sir… I don't- I don't know what that is-"

"THIS," the Captain began, "is the boy's shadow! Caught in the marketplace, near our little informant, not too far away from your little orphanage!"

Smee's confusion got mixed up in a loss for words. The cold, conniving man was reduced to a bumbling idiot with one fowl contradiction.

"That means your STAR pupil is on the loose! And you thought you could get away with that alibi?! You are a LIAR!"

Smee took affront to that. "A liar?! Now, I'm anything BUT! The last time I saw him was at the orphanage."

Captain Hook wasn't convinced. "Did you check his bed before you left?"

Smee hadn't thought of that.

"Smee, you didn't think that maybe you could've brought him to me tonight and ended your job quicker?"

"Was that the actual plan, Captain?"

Captain Hook was staring wide-eyed at his incompetent boatswain. His anger reached the highest tolerance for the man.

"That was absolutely the plan! He was supposed to be old enough to know who he was. I told you to bring him if you saw fit! You could have ended your façade, your job, tonight, and had enough time to make it back to Neverland for tea!"

The Captain set his chair back up and swept some dirt off his shoulders.

"But no matter. We still have his shadow. And he'll be weak-minded without it. Once he comes to retrieve it, he'll be ours! He will have no choice in the matter."

He turned to his boatswain, who still shook in embarrassment.

"Go back to your flock and keep them in line, Father Smee. Never mind your job here, but we will be here every night until the deed is done. You are to be here every night as well. You are still responsible to find out where he is if you want to have a clean record."

Father Kenneth got pushed his chair in and bade his captain farewell before he disappeared into the early morning.

If you were up during that hour, you would have seen a massive brig raise itself up into the early morning sky and were convinced that you were daydreaming again.


	16. Chapter 16

That morning, a girl looked out her window and wished on the murky clouds that today would be special. Ever since she turned 13, she hoped for just something else to happen; just one time for the day to be different. It never was before. Father would go to work while dropping off her older brother Henry at the locksmith's store. Then she'd leave her mother at home to school and after she came back, Mother would lovingly send her on various errands, the most exciting ones being by the changes of season.

. As she tied her flowing brown hair together in a ponytail, she gave herself a good look in the mirror. She always wanted to have what they called a 'kiss'; a little smirk on the side of the mouth that made it look like you were always happy. She saw herself becoming a woman just like her mother. Well, maybe her but not like her completely; she wouldn't want to be stuck in a house for the rest of her life, except to go out to fancy parties or to other families for visits, and just do hundreds of chores around the house. It was a different story, however, to want the grace and warmth that came with a kiss.

Meanwhile, she always hoped that maybe Father would announce that he had the money to take the whole family on a trip to some exotic location, or that he had made a new invention, or that Mother would be invited to tea with the Queen, or that Henry would brighten up and talk to her more often, especially when he came home with Father. It never happened; Father was so busy with other work that he hadn't even thought of an invention for quite some time, Mother only got invited to neighbor's houses –some more posh and fancy than others, but never the Queen- and Henry still barely talked to her, buried in his own studies and plans to go to university.

Yet at the Robertson household, everything was going normally, to her chagrin; Mother would come down early, her face already showing a mix of determination and grace, almost immediately before Father would. As she readied breakfast, he would organize his work papers and fix up his suit, making it look like it is only a few years younger than it really was. He would glance at his watch and alert the children, by yelling up the stairs, how much time they had to come down. Henry usually passed Elizabeth down the stairs, as the lanky 16- year old boy rushed down as fast as possible to follow the command of his father; she usually came down last, almost as if not wanting the next day to start.

They usually ate together, before father and son had to leave for work and, later, Elizabeth to school. Yet, as they left, moving towards the door, Elizabeth, for the first time in a while, decided to look to the door as they left. Then suddenly, the men gasped and jumped back in surprise! Mother rushed to the door, Elizabeth right behind her. The street outside was still wet as the rain turned into a mist.

What was on their doorstep surprised everyone. A boy –who appeared to be soaked to the bone, his damp blonde hair stuck to his head - was laying on their doorstep. He even shivered in his sleep- the poor thing! Father stood there, just staring at the boy, unsure of what to do. Mother reached down to gather the soaked child inside, but Father stopped her.

"My dear, are you mad? We don't know what he might have! You know of the diseases going around London- he could have one, and you know you wouldn't want one of them around the house! And look at his clothes- he's an orphan too! Who knows what he's really like? He could be a delinquent or a thief or a-"

Mother gave him a look. "Look dear, regardless of who he is or where he's from, it would be a sin to leave him out there. We must help him- look how sick he looks. He's even shivering! What a poor little boy."

Father was convinced, and picked the boy off the steps.

Mother immediately made sure that the boy was warmed up immediately; the wet clothes came off, he was put into a bath to be warmed and clean, and dressed into dry clothes before put into the guest room bed, warmed by any extra quilts they had. Father had to leave for work with Henry, so she took care of everything, including getting the doctor. What was so scary about the situation was that the boy was barely conscious throughout the whole ordeal. Mother even said that he spoke in his sleep, something like "what do you want from me?" or, as she put him into the bed "You don't scare me."

As she fetched the doctor, Elizabeth was told to watch David, which she did gladly. Yet as she sat there, next to the bed, she saw him move a little bit. His eyes fluttered as his body seemed to wake up.

Then he noticed that he wasn't wearing his own clothes, but rather saggy ones, that there were a lot of sheets on him, he was in a strange room and-

A stranger was watching him! He gave a frightened scream, and leapt out of the bed in order to get out of the house-or wherever he was-, regardless of how sick he felt. Elizabeth was so surprised that she almost didn't stop him from reaching the door.

"What are you doing?! Are you mad? You need to get better!"

David tried to get past her, but she was older than he was, and he felt so sick. He gave up almost immediately, crawled to the corner and curled up, his head in his skinny arms, tightly packed with fear. After seeing this, Elizabeth, in an act so unnatural to her, went up to the boy and crouched down near him.

In the kind of warm voice she tried so hard to copy from her mother, she said, "My name is Elizabeth, Robertson. What is yours?" He looked up at her. He looked terrible; his face and lips were pale, his eyes shrouded in darkened bags and he coughed frequently. Her warm voice made him feel more comfortable.

"Dav'd."

"What?"

He coughed. "D-David."

"David… what?"

"That's it. J-Just David."

A boy with only one name? How very unusual! As if the rest of him wasn't unusual enough. She had never seen a boy like him before; he had dark-red hair, while she was used to darker colors of brown black. He continued to cough, while Elizabeth watched him from a distance.

"I'm sorry I scared you," She began.

"It was the right thing of you to come to us. Father is a very generous man. He always brings back one of his poor friends to stay for the night. That is why we had to get a house with an extra room, see. We actually moved a few years ago, and nowadays he doesn't have that many people over anymore, not since he got a better job."

She took one of the quilts off of the bed and laid it on David, still rolled up in the corner. He could only eke out a small "thank you" before he tucked himself in it, his head across his folded arms.

"Mother took care of you while Father left with my older brother. You should have seen our faces. We all nearly fainted after seeing you. You looked like you were… dead!"

After warming up more, he said, in a hoarse voice, "Your father sounds like a nice man. So does your mother. Not sure about your brother, though."

"You mean Henry?"

"Who?"

"My brother, Henry. He's very secluded, very shy. He'll like you… I'm sure."

Then he coughed, and the noise made him realize how sick he was. "I really doubt it. I don't act well when I'm sick."

"You'll be fine. Mother knows one of the best doctors in this part of London. I'm sure he could help you. I think I just heard the door open. Yes, I think that's him."

Sure enough, Mrs. Robertson came up with someone who definitely seemed to be a doctor, at least he looked like it. What was most intriguing was that David recognized the doctor; he used to be called in for sick children in the orphanage, which used to be David on a perennial basis. He just hoped the doctor didn't recognize him.

"Thank you so much for coming doctor, especially on such short notice. This boy looks to be very sick. We weren't sure what he has."

"Not a problem, Mrs. Robertson… Is that the boy?" He noticed David sitting in the corner, while Elizabeth sat on the bed nearby.

"Very interesting place to put a sick child, no?" He facetiously asked Mother.

"Oh, of course not. He must have moved there by himself. Didn't he Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Mother. He likes tight spaces."

_She didn't even mention that I tried to leave. _David looked to Elizabeth with amazed eyes.

"Well then, I can't examine a patient while he's sitting tight like that. Let's bring him over to the bed and see what we're dealing with."

So David willingly moved to the bed and the doctor examined him. He checked David and after some time gave a prognosis; he had the flu, which only needed time and rest for it to go away. The doctor suggested some medicine to help with the symptoms.

"Some nice tea with honey should help the throat, but you already knew that."

"Yes, Doctor. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Yet as the Doctor turned he asked one more question.

"One more thing. Is that your boy, Madam? I've never seen him before."

Mother was startled a little bit. "Uh-well, um… Yes, we just adopted him. In fact, they gave him to us like this. How ungrateful!"

"So," The Doctor asked. "What is his name?"

Mother sounded like she was going to give some other name, but Elizabeth stepped in.

"David. His name is David Robertson." Elizabeth stood next to her mother.

She sounded grateful. "Yes, yes, right. His name is David Robertson," She said, her strong hand now resting on her daughter's shoulder.

"Well, I hope you enjoy him after he gets better. I'll come back later for the check." He tipped his hat as he left.

"Good day, M'ladies." He said as they walked him out into the London mist. They simultaneously let out a breath a few moments after he left.

"Liza," Mother turned to her, "you better get to school now. I'll send you on my word that you should be excused."

"Yes, Mother, Thank you." She replied as she gathered her book together.

"David Robertson. Sounds like a very nice name." she smiled to Elizabeth before she went to the kitchen to get some tea for the guest, repeating the name to herself a couple of times, almost soothing to her.

_Maybe I got my wish after all, _she thought as she went on her way to school.


	17. Chapter 17

The dagger shook in his briefcase, like it was trying to get out. Mr. Robertson took it into the office with him, to try to find some answers at work. His wife had found it with that strange child lying on their doorstep, wrapped in a sheath that looked from another time. He wanted to find out what it was, and the client he was to meet with should know.

Yet he pushed that object into the back of his mind as he walked up the marble white stairs to his office, hidden in the fortress of grey stone and ridged pillars. The warm air inside chased away the morning chill as he passed the usual secretaries and the cubicles of the bank.

To any child, his office was cold and white, with a plain oak desk, one picture of his family and a view of the back of the next building. To him, it was where work was done, where he could afford to keep his family in London.

After sitting down in the worn-out plush chair, he opened his briefcase and reached instinctively into one spot. The paperwork usually sat there, but this time his hand brushed against that mysterious weapon. The hilt felt like old coarse leather on his backhand and he instinctively drew his hand out. What was he doing? It was an old relic, something valuable, hopefully. He put his hand back in, pulled out the papers and pushed his bag aside, keeping the old dagger as far away as possible.

He couldn't understand why it bothered him so, yet the matter was tossed aside as the museum representative knocked on the oak door twice. He thought he had more time to gather himself together, but once again life proved him wrong.

The papers were out of order. He didn't have any fasteners at home, and in a haze he must've put them inside incorrectly. No matter, he thought. I only need a few seconds to get myself straightened out.

He heard more knocking coming from outside.

"Yes, Yes, I heard you sir. Just hold on for eighteen seconds!"

He was usually meticulous in his banking. However, today was one of the few stints that his way of things was interrupted. The other time was when his daughter was born.

Yet it only took him about fifteen seconds to sort things out, giving him three seconds to compose himself.

"Ehm, come in."

The first thing Mr. Robertson noticed was that he wore too much, as sweat poured down from his brow. His tweed waistcoat looked too tight, like he bought it before he discovered Bavarian creams. He tugged at his stiff wing collar as he took a seat opposite the inquisitive worker of the state.

"Dear Lord, Mr. Hawkins. You look terribly uncomfortable. Would you like me to open up the window?"

Mr. Hawkins rubbed his forehead a second time, in a futile attempt to keep his head dry.

"Yes, that would be quite grand, thank you. "

As the rush of a satisfying gust washed over the overheated man, Mr. Robertson got straight to business.

" So, Mr. Hawker, you sent a runner boy to our offices and it sounded quite urgent,. What seems to be the problem? "

" Well, " Mr. Hawker began, " There's a brig on the river Thames, not too far from here, if you would like me to show you, well it is under severe disrepair. I would like a grant to help refurbish the poor thing, to strip away the bad parts and make it a beautiful thing again."

"Well sir, that sounds like a bold undertaking. Could cost a small fortune to fix. "

" Well, yes Mr. Robertson,. "

" In addition to the hire of the proper workers, paying them enough to stay. And how on earth do you intend on keeping brig on public waters long enough to clean it all up?"

"Well sir, it seems you took some time to think about it. "

" I have to, sir. It's my job, and my duty to spend money wisely on worthwhile projects. Yours doesn't sound so worthwhile... "

" But sir, it's for the good of the museum. "

Mr. Robertson could feel the irritation bubbling up to the surface. He hated when clients came unprepared. He only came with an idea, yet he only had that one little thought to bring to the table.

" What good will it do, Mr. Hawkins? " He leaned back in his chair, his arms in an impatient fold. He didn't give any ideas. He wanted to hear them from his client's mouth.

" Well, Mr. Robertson, it will be for a new exhibit in... The west wing of the museum... For the old slave trade era of England. "

It sounded like the client had made that up on the spot, yet it sounded like he was sounding more desperate, like he was using his final convincing point. It sounded like a good idea. Now they were getting somewhere. He leaned forward back into his chair and pushed some papers forward to his client.

"Well then, you're going to need to know more information before I can give you the money now. The next time I can meet you is in two weeks. "

"Two weeks? But we need to fix this ship as soon as possible. "

" How soon, Sir?

"Well, if we don't act now, the ship could fall apart on the water and sink to the bottom. "

Now he felt bad for a second. But it wasn't his fault. He had too many clients to care for each of them, especially after being promoted.

" Well I'm sorry sir, but there's nothing I can do. I have another client in a few minutes. You must come with all of the answers to my questions, and more mind you, before I could write you out a check, Mr. Hawkins. My secretary will mark you down for another appointment. "

Mr. Robertson had to train himself to be insensitive to a client's dejected face. Yet one thing kept nagging him in the back of his mind. Something about a knife...

" Oh! Mr. Hawkins! Wait. I have something to ask of you. "

The man turned around, once again wiping the sweat off of his brow.

" I need your help... To appraise something. "

He turned to his briefcase and pulled out the dagger to give to Mr. Hawkins.

Usually the museum worker was ecstatic at finding something new, something out of the knowledge of his own world. But now he was too disappointed to care enough. He sheathed the knife in its hilt, without even pulling the whole thing out, and handed it back to him.

" It looks no older than 15 years old. Maybe an old relic of sorts. It's not worth the money to put it on the market. "

He walked out of the office into the morning sun, with a crushed dream and a lot more paperwork to make, leaving his Banker holding the knife in a one handed grip and a puzzled stare.

" If it was so worthless, " he whispered to himself as he readied himself for the next client," Why did the boy have it? "


	18. Chapter 18

New section added at the end. Next chapter will begin after that. Please let me know what you think!

While his new friend was at school, David slept deeply, so much so that he didn't even budge when Mrs. Robertson checked on him. He never slept so deeply in a long time, his body relaxing away the pain and aches that came with the flu. Yet no amount of sleep could help him fix his shadow. Still he slept, not knowing that it was fixing him faster than it would for a normal child. By the time he would awaken, the sickness would be gone.

But his mind was on the clock-tower again, the bright London skyline open in front of him, the huge arms of the clock within touching distance of where he stood. But on the side of the huge, illuminated face was a door, concealed in the elaborate Glasswork. His heart began to thump in his chest as his hand reached out to open it.

"Don't be afraid, David."

There was that voice again. It was soothing to hear it, like an angel, like Sister Deborah...

"Go inside. Nothing can hurt you now."

The voice was right. He had climbed impossible walls, stood up to the tallest boys and won. He even stole a judge's wallet and got away with it! So he ventured forth and pushed the door wide open.

What greeted him was far more mysterious than he imagined. The room was huge, like it was longer than the sleeping quarters at the orphanage, illuminated by amber wires peeking out of the cracks of the walls. Across the room sat what looked like a king- who wore a shimmering crown of diamonds and gold and purple royal garb- that sat on the majestic golden throne, itself lit with the amber lights. On the sides of the throne stood five men, three on one side and two on the other, dressed in cloaks and bowing slightly. They looked how David had imagined King William looked from the story Ichabod had told him.

Then one of them bowed to the king and started walking towards him. He took slow steps, his long cloak dragging behind him, his face completely covered. David felt the hairs on his neck stand up. Should he run? Stay and fight? What should he do?

As he turned around to consider his options, he realized that the door was gone. It was as if he had walked through a portal. He was stuck with these men, these... Grown-ups.

Then he felt the calmness again. He closed his eyes as the rush of confidence washed over him. As he opened them up again, he saw that the man had taken the cloak off of his head. He looked like a young man, with not a grey hair on his head and only a couple of wrinkles underneath his eyes. And he was smiling. David didn't know what to think as he looked up at the man who towered over him.

"Y-You don't scare me." He was ready to stand his ground but as the man chuckled at his threat, he realized that he wasn't going to hurt him. The man was smiling at him like he had seen him before, like he was greeting a long lost friend.

"Hello Peter."

_Peter? What was he talking about?_

"Dearest Peter, it is so good to see you."

"Who-who are you?!"

The man looked taken aback.

"Don't you recognize who I am?"

They shared a confusing glance at one another as the older man knelt down to meet him face to face. He hadn't noticed how similar his eyes looked to his own.

"I'm…I'm your Father, Peter."

"But, that's not…how is that possible? I don't remember you at all."

"Who says you have to remember your father for him to be yours? I remember you from when you were so small. My how big you have grown. Your hair even changed already."

_How did he know about my hair changing?_

"Because, Peter, that's the trait all Magicians share."

_How did he just…read my thoughts?_

"Because you're dreaming, Peter. You can do anything in your dreams. Little children can even fly."

"So you can read my thoughts- wait. How did you know about the tower dream I've been having?"

He couldn't believe that someone actually knew his deepest secrets. Yet his father didn't say anything as he moved his arm off of his knee onto his shoulder. Yet the moment before his father could touch him, he woke up.

…

Peter's eyes jutted open as he still lay in the bed. He didn't even remember getting back into it. Not a single drop of sweat moistened his hair. He lay there and relished the fact that this was the first time he didn't wake up scared.

The light outside shone through the shades and painted the room in a pinkish hue. He heard the birds chirp through the window across from where he sat. He usually loved to watch them sing, yet he felt so melancholy that he wanted to stay in bed instead of doing so. He didn't think that it would be possible for it to be easier for him to cry than to smile. To make matters worse, he wasn't anywhere familiar. He was in a house that belonged to strangers, far from any familiarity and definitely nowhere close to Ichabod's warm countenance or Sister Deborah's loving embrace. Something was horribly wrong with him, but he didn't notice. He had to get up though; he never stayed in bed for so long, so needed to see if his legs still worked.

The carpet felt like his thick hair under his feet as he looked around the room with the minimal amount of curiosity. He steeped his feet across the carpet floor as he checked through the drawers and opened up the curtains, allowing some more light. Maybe the sunlight will help, he thought as the afternoon's orange and yellow rays poured into the room. The shadows grew in the back of everything in the room as he continued to look through the drawers. They all seemed empty, except for tattered old pajamas and a towel. Yet as he opened up the bottom drawer, he noticed something odd; from the wall, it seemed like the drawer was opening itself, while he was clearly holding onto it. He opened the first drawer only to have the same effect. To make sure he was seeing correctly, he moved the drawer away from the space, making a ruckus he didn't care to make. This couldn't be. From what he saw on the wall, he didn't have a shadow. His heart could be felt pounding in his chest.

_How could he not have a shadow?! _

Then he heard footsteps coming from outside, and his heart jumped again. He needed to get back into bed, but the drawer was on an angle that could be clearly noticed as different. Elizabeth caught him trying to move the drawer back.


	19. Chapter 19

"What on earth are you doing? Is everything okay? We heard such noise coming from this room."

He stared at her like a cornered firefly, out of ideas and without a shadow.

"I…I … Um, well, this cupboard was… well…"

She tried to ignore the lie, but it was too hard as she walked over to help him push it back.

"Why was it over there anyway?"

"Well, I…I noticed something bad."

"What? What happened? Are you all right?"

She put up the back of her hand to his forehead, like she saw her mother do.

"Doesn't feel like you have a fever. Just doing some arrangements?" She snickered at the thought of a boy waking up only to immediately fix the furniture around the room.

But he was running out of ideas. Should he tell her?

"Well, sort of. The sun was in my eyes and…I thought to maybe move the bed."

"How would that work?"

"I don't know," he groaned. He was really using up all of his excuses.

"I just…I… Um, Elizabeth?"

"Yes, what is it?"

She moved inquisitively towards him, pulled by his evident looks of helplessness. He decided not to think about it and just tell her.

"Elizabeth, my shadow is gone."

It took a second for her to step back as she realized the absurdity.

"Your shadow is… gone?"

"Yes, Elizabeth. I got up to look around the room, and I noticed that, well-". He stopped to just show her.

He pulled her to the spot where the sun still shone through and pointed at the ground behind them. Her shadow was there to greet her, but his was…

"No way… David-"

"It's Peter."

"What?"

"Peter. My real name is Peter."

"Your name is Peter? Then why did you tell me David before?"

"That was my old name. I… Had to change it to David when I… first got to the orphanage."

"Alright… so, Peter, how did this happen?"

"I don't know. I really, whole-heartedly don't know."

"Well how will you get it back? How did you lose it in the first place?"

"Once again, I don't know."

"What should we do until then? Should I tell Mother?"

"Do Mothers know what to do for these sort of things?"

"Absolutely. She knows what to do for everything. I'm sure she can fix your shadow. Maybe it will grow back, like hair." She headed to the stairs to fetch her mother.

"Wait. Elizabeth, have you ever lost your shadow before?"

"No, but I'm sure that if it happened to you, chances are Mother has heard about it too."

As she went for her Mother, Mrs. Robertson met her at the top of the stairs. She looked sterner than usual.

"That took awfully long, Eliza. Everything alright?"

"Yes, Mother. But Peter has something wrong."

"Who's Peter?"

"He is, Mother."

She turned to him in confusion. "I thought your name was David. I like that name more, actually."

He shrugged it off. "Well, it's Peter. That's my real name, actually."

Her eyes narrowed. "Since when?"

"Since I…" He stammered as he forgot his previous alibi.

"Since he got back from the Orphanage," Elizabeth interjected. "He needed to change his name."

She looked back from her daughter's unsatisfactory answer and changed to the subject at hand.

"Well, anyway, what seems to be the problem? And why are the shades open?"

She glided across the floor and drew the shades before either of them could interfere. The shades filtered out enough to block any shadows on the ground.

"Goodness knows how bad it is to have so much sun when you're sick. Anyways, what seems to be the problem?"

She looked back at them, her hands gracefully resting on her hips.

"Well, Peter seems to have lost his shadow."

She stared at them with a roll of her eyes and a kiss, the one that could pierce through any lie.

"Oh, Eliza. Don't be ridiculous. No one loses their shadows."

"But Mrs. Robertson-"

"That will be all, David."

He looked up at her after timidly staring at the ground. Why did she insist on calling him that?

"Anyways, I had come to check on you, and seeing how you look much better, I would love to accept you as one of our own."

Her daughters face lit up, as she expected it to. She felt the same way inside. She had always wanted a son too…

"You would do that, Mother?"

"Of course. Your father and I are not in any dire straits not to help another child. Now, we have to incorporate you into our way of life."

"What do you mean, Mrs. Robertson?"

"Well, for one thing you can call me Mother. I _am_ your mother after all."

He blinked a few times more than usual. He never really had a mother until now…

"Yes, Mother."

"Good. Secondly, I have sent for uniforms for school and leisure. I will not have a son of mine wear those drags you came here with. You will be sent to school and receive a better education."

She knelt down to get a closer look at his face. To her, he looked like a freckled cherub that flew off of the Ark into her arms. He was a beautiful boy, like the one she always wanted. She might have had one too if…

"Anyways, I just want to let you know that as my child, I will always love you. You're a Robertson now. I hope you like what we can give you to make up for the life you've never had."

She kissed the top of his forehead and beckoned for Elizabeth to join her in the kitchen to prepare for dinner. Outside, dusk was forming over the horizon, and that kiss warmed him like the sun that was there not so long ago. Yet by the time he enjoyed his first real meal in days, with the stars twinkling above the rooftops, he forgot that he was missing his shadow. Almost.


	20. Chapter 20

He couldn't sleep. He didn't understand why but as soon as he heard the faintest bell ring in his ears, he awoke urgently, as if he had missed an important meeting. So he stared out the window, counting the stars that peeked out from behind the clouds until the sun swept them away. From the window, he could see the other side of the River Thames glinting the sunlight over the other houses in Kensington. But nothing could prepare him for what happened next.

Suddenly, he saw a big black mass lift off of the River and sail into…into the sky. It looked like a ship, with some of the glinting river water streaming off of its huge hull. Peter began to think that he was just seeing things until he looked behind him to notice his missing shadow again. So if he could lose his shadow, a giant ship could fly up from the river and towards…

_Where was it going? _

The ship climbed higher as Peter strained to get a better look at it before it disappeared. He even craned his neck out of the window, after pulling the lever up in surprisingly quick fashion, to see if maybe it would fly over their house.

It didn't seem like it was landing. Maybe it wasn't…

Then it dawned on him. As he closed the brisk world away and folded his arms, Peter felt his heart pound in his chest again. Was it going back to Neverland?

_Neverland?! _

_NEVERLAND!_

_The ship was going back to Neverland! So that must have been Captain Hook in his Jolly Roger! But why was it here?_

"Elizabeth, please go wake up David. You must leave soon."

He slumped into his folded arms. Mornings came way too quickly when he didn't want them to, especially when he saw something like that. Maybe it will come again tomorrow night.

He turned around to look at what had been put in the dresser yesterday. Button down shirts and short pants fought for space in the first drawer, while socks and underwear in the second. Two pairs of shiny black shoes waited patiently by his feet, as if willing him to put one of them on. Peter looked back at the things and as he put on the uniform, he came to the realization that it might take him longer than he thought to get out of here.

It felt strange for him to wear shoes after so many days of being barefoot, with a tight collar tugging at his neck. The shirt itched and his pants felt a little tight, yet he still managed to get down the stairs without stumbling over. He didn't expect to see such wide smiles on his family's face as he shuffled into the room. He didn't realize that for the first time in his life, he was going to be a part of everyone else; the children that leave home to school while their fathers go to their work and their Mothers tend to the needs of the house.

"Remember, David," His Mother instructed as she adjusted his shirt collar. "Go to the Headmaster's office first and give him this-" She then gave him a note with curves and lines against white paper-"He'll help you find your classroom."

The schoolhouse looked slightly brighter than all the other buildings around it. Maybe it was because some of the sunlight peaked on the spire that grew out of the middle of the roof and gleamed off of the windows, positioned on the building to make it look symmetrical. As she left to go to her own school, he felt overwhelmed and alone against this building. All too soon, he became just another boy rushing to class, a drop in the ocean that was rushing into the big building. Amongst the current, he noticed the place that his Mother told him of. It was the only room that didn't look like a classroom, with one secretary that let him meet with the Headmaster after receiving the note.

The Headmaster's office looked much fancier than the rest of the building's white inside. It was covered in wood, with a fancy chandelier hanging overhead and a dark black campaign desk with shiny brass knobs positioned directly opposite of the door. The Headmaster[ZN1] was sitting precisely how he did every day: at a 20 degree angle, with his right arm bent 90 degrees over the paperwork, his left hand clutching the brass magnifying glass paperweight on his desk.

As the Headmaster beckoned him in with a wave of two fingers, Peter took a deep breath as he missed the confidence he would usually feel at that moment. He was going to have to face another grown up without any help from within.

"Sit down Mr.… Robertson."

As he took the seat in front, the Headmaster leaned forward on his throne.

"Tell me. As an orphan, how much education did you receive?"

Peter shifted in his seat. "Well, um, I learned Latin and a lot of Bible studies…"

"Well, do you know how to read? Write?"

"No, Sir. Just those things. Oh, and English too. But it would be hard to live in England without it, wouldn't it?"

The Headmaster shook his head in dismay. How could a child only know those studies and not know how to read?

As soon as his mind was set, he leaned back in his chair.

"Alright, David. I have made a decision to put you in a low level class, so that you will know to read and write by the end of the year."

The Headmaster signaled him to leave the office as he gave him back the note.

"Please give the teacher the note as well. Welcome to the Knightsbridge Industrial School, David. Study well. Now off to class."

He shuffled into the classroom, one part overwhelmed and one part shy. His bright hair, and the fact that he was so much older than the rest of the boys in the class, made him stick out like a sore thumb. David knew it; he was new and unusual. He felt the cold stares coming from the other students as he was introduced by the tall, lanky, overlooking Professor.

"Class, I'd like to welcome uhh … David Robertson, to our class. Give him a loud 'welcome' if you would."

"Welcome, David Robinson." He heard the forced enthusiasm. He knew that kids don't ever sound like that unless they're told to do so. He heard whispers of mockery as the teacher kept his attention on him.

"Here, David, there's a seat over there. Do sit there, please. Alright boys, let's continue our lesson. Repeat the alphabet again, from the board…"

As fast as the professor was going, the lesson flew as fast as a snail moves across a yard. After the next lesson, David was convinced that this wasn't for him. Some kids tried to start with him, but he didn't want to get in trouble for beating someone up on the first day. They tried very hard though. But he heard all of those before. Yet if they knew that he had faced others bigger than any one of them, they'd have stayed away.

Yet the day passed and David found himself at recess, the grassy knolls feeling familiar under his feet. The other children were playing games that looked much more serious than they were at the Orphanage. They wore uniforms and played with nicer equipment. Yet there he stood amongst the smaller boys, a head taller than some but still older by a lot. Yet they seemed to be waiting for someone, as they refused to start until some other boys arrived.

Then the older boys showed up, at least the ones Peter's age. They too wore the uniforms and after they split up into teams and played the game.

Yet Peter was the only one not playing. Usually he'd be fine with that, but now the loneliness hurt too much. He watched the other boys have fun with watering eyes.

_What on EARTH was happening to him?!_

He rushed to the bathroom to let out hard sobs into the metal sink. After a minute of looking away from the mirror, he looked up into his reflection. His eyes were red surrounding bright hazel, with his favorite bangs growing back. So why was he sad? Was it because he was at this school? Maybe. Because he felt so alone amongst everyone else? Could be.

As he washed his face from the tears on his face, he felt a tug on his feet. He looked down to see his shadow hiding behind him from the lights above.

His shadow… His shadow… It was there! It was… growing back?!

_How on Earth-_

He couldn't believe that it was growing back on its own. That definitely made him feel better about his whole situation. He even felt like he was tearing up out of pure happiness, as if he saw an old friend again.

…

The day was over while there was some light out, to Peter's excitement. As Elizabeth came from her school to pick them up, they passed through the cobbled streets, the pent-up houses, the candle-lit nooks and crannies where the people shoved themselves in, the tragedy of the dream to live in a city, the leftovers of the industrial age. They crossed the streets where men passed them by, covered in large coats and tipped hats, to a nice supper and pipe, a break from the job they needed so badly.

The carriages looked darker due to the setting sun, as the horses changed from brown majestic animals to beasts of the night. They passed across the river Thames, just in time to see the bleak London sunlight setting on the water, giving a final wink to the skyline. As they walked back home together, he felt a little bit of the confidence come back as he felt comfort in walking with a new friend.

In a matter only her Mother would be proud, she asked, "So, David, how was your day?"

He looked back at her as they crossed the street. He decided not to tell her about his shadow.

"Horrible. I don't like that place. It was way too boring."

She was taken aback. How could he not like it?

"You think so? I like it. You get to learn so many different things, but only when you're willing to take it in. You going to tell that to Mother?"

"Should I?"

"No. Not at all. It wouldn't sit well with her."

"So what _should _I tell her?"

As she looked back at him, a small thought popped into her head: she barely registered that this boy was her new brother, even though he looked nothing like her. She still talked to him like any other growing child would.

"I don't know. Maybe something good that you learned."

"All I remember was learning the alphabet."

"That's good. Recite them then."

"That would be great… If I still remembered them."

"You forgot them already?"

"Yeah. They didn't seem too important."

"Didn't seem too important? David, they're-"

"Peter, Elizabeth."

"Oh, right. Anyways, they're meant to help us read and write."

He looked confused.

"Why would I need to know that?"

She forgot how innocent he actually was, and he looked like he was only a couple of years younger than her.

"Because that's how the world works, Peter. You need to know them in order to live around here."

"But what if I don't want to live here?"

She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Not to live in London? How absurd."

"Why is that so absurd?"

"Because the world is nothing compared to England, let alone London."

"How so?"

She paused for a moment. Why _did _she love London?

"Well…Um, the streets are clean, the houses are nice… People are much nicer here, and better dressed. Plus there's nothing like being able to see the Queen every day, when living a half-hour away from the palace is possible."

"Since when did you care so much about the Queen, Elizabeth?"

"Well, I'm named after Mother's favorite one. Also, Mother always loved to see royalty up close. She always dreamed of having tea with them, or at least with one of the princesses. She says that they never have anything like that in France, where she came from. She fell in love it the whole idea after she was waved at when the Queen was going back into the palace."

"So you want to stay here for an old lady dressed up in fancy garb and colorful hats that waves at people every so often?"

Her eyes widened in shock. "Peter, don't say that! That's disrespectful."

His face fell as they continued to walk.

"Sorry. It just didn't make sense. Why would your Mother love them so much?"

"I don't know. She never was related to any royalty, although she believes that we descended from Louis XIV for some reason."

They gave each other confused looks with hilarious results.

"So where was your family from, Elizabeth?"

"Norwood, outside of London," She replied. "We moved when Mother and Father wanted the children to have friends. They said that only old people lived in Norwood, so to them it was very boring. Besides, they could afford to live right in London, Father not having to travel."

"How could they afford it?"

"Father invented something big, something very popular."

"What did he invent exactly?"

"The alarm clock."

"Oh." He never saw one. Maybe only the people outside the Orphanage had them.

"What made him think of inventing that?"

"When they had to rearrange the furniture to make way for Henry's cradle, Father was sick and tired of moving around the huge Grandfather clock we had in the house. So he decided to tinker with the big clock, salvaged old parts from the nearby watchmaker and made a smaller clock, with a bell on it for waking up. Simple as that. Father is really proud of it. He always keeps the original one on him, as a badge of honor. The big clock was destroyed, though. Mother still hasn't forgiven him for it."

They both shared a laugh as they rounded the corner to their house.

As they passed through the fence, she noticed that he ran his fingers around its short posts, as if he hadn't seen one like it.

_How unusual_, she thought as she let the two of them in.

She knew that Father had come home by now, so Elizabeth went to greet him the moment they came back home. He was in his favorite chair, reading a book before he welcomed her into his loving embrace.

"Hello, Eliza, my sweet."

He kissed her on the forehead before asking about her day. Peter felt out of place while Father and Daughter shared an intimate moment together.

"David, dearest. Do come in the kitchen will you?"

Mother was there waiting for him, while peering into an issue of the _Evening News_ with her glasses positioned at the tip of her nose. She put the paper down and removed the glasses to look straight at her beautiful child, still looking sharp in his school outfit.

"Why are you so frightened? Please sit down."

He sat in the chair opposite hers at the small table in the kitchen, leaning as far away from her as possible.

"So, how was your first day, love?"

He looked up at her in the kind of silence that can be tasted a mile away. She could tell something was wrong, but still tried a different approach.

"David, now that you've been to your first lesson, please recite it."

He gulped with eyes open wide and mouth shut.

"Well, David? It wasn't taught yesterday. What did you learn today?"

He gulped again as he took a deep breath.

"Well, we learned the alphabet today."

"Can you recount them for me please? Start with 'A', my love."

His teeth chattered as he spoke them out: "A… B…E…"

His mother shook her head lightly.

"No, no. That's not right, David. Try again. 'A'…"

"B…G?"

She shook her head again.

"No, David. It's 'C'. 'A', 'B' then 'C'. Try again, love."

He thought she would beat him like the Priest did at the Orphanage. Maybe he was wrong about some grown-ups…

"A, B, C, then D…"

"Good, good. After that?"

"G?"

"No, David, my sweet, it's 'E'." She smiled warmly at him, as comforting as Sister Deborah used to.

They got to "J" by the time the Nanny[ZN2] announced that Supper was ready.

* * *

[ZN1]Inspiration: Peter Capaldi

[ZN2]REMEMBER THIS! THEY WERE RICH ENOUGH TO HIRE A NANNY!


	21. Chapter 21

He got too curious. That was what The Captain kept telling himself as he saw the shadow-filled trunk plummet down towards the city below. Just while they were about to dock at the harbor, too, the _Jolly Roger _turning over it after passing through the clouds above the main city.

After all of that time just staring at it rumble on the cupboard, he wondered what it was like to hold a shadow in his hands. Yet as soon as he had opened the trunk, which had been stupidly placed near a porthole, it shook so violently that it jumped through the fragile window and fell towards the city in a cascading container of wood and metal.

It shattered in the middle of a cobbled street near the Parliament building. The contents slithered out in caution before disappearing into the night, searching for its other half.

Peter was comfortable enough to explore the house while the rest of the family was tucked in their rooms for the night, even with his precious dagger on hand, like a child's toy bear. He sat by the window overlooking the street he had come from days ago. It was raining outside, drops as big as his pinky splattering all across the front garden and the world outside, the noise of them on the roof heard all the way from the bottom floor.

"Peter, everything alright? Why aren't you in bed?"

It wasn't Mother, but Elizabeth. She had come down the stairs so as to not disturb her parents in the next room.

"Yes, Elizabeth. Everything is fine. I was just…"

She sat down next to him on the couch with her legs crossed in front of her, craning her neck to see her little brother gaze into the wet outside.

"What do you see out there, David?"

"I dunno. It just looks so…So…"

"Strange?"

"No, just weird. Like it's darker than I've ever seen it."

Elizabeth turned towards him, as her neck ached from stretching out too much.

"Well, it is late out there. Our bushes have gotten very high, I'm afraid, so you can't see out there so well."

The only light that he could see out there was the light across the street, glimmering through the raindrops. Then…total darkness. Only the lamps, burning low in the dining room, were giving off light. The two children stared at each other in silence.

"D-david? W-What happened out there?"

Any sudden absence of light could scare any child into fear- except one.

"I don't know Elizabeth." He looked more curious than afraid, something that comforted his sister.

"The window looks like it's covered in some kind of darkness, yet I can see light coming in from some corners. See there?"

He pointed to the top right corner, which glowed in the streetlight's light. Yet the darkness took on a familiar shape…

It oozed across the surface, as if it was a…could it be?

"Elizabeth, I think that's my… My…"

"Your what, David?"

"My shadow! Come, let's get it!"

He disregarded how wet it was outside and barged through the front door, while the shadow slipped off of the window, allowing the light to come back through again. He didn't know it at the moment, but as he ran outside in the pouring rain, a big smile grew across his entire face, a warm feeling spreading down to his feet and fingertips, the golden glow returning to his hands.

And he got better at jumping leaps and bounds. So much so that he was catching up to a being lighter than air as he chased it around the house. The shadow was losing places to run as Peter grabbed at it twice, once slipping out due to his wet grip. Peter maneuvered himself to turn the shadow into the house, and somehow it worked perfectly. Elizabeth dived out of the way as the boy and his shadow barreled into the entrance of the house, miraculously making very little noise. It swerved around the lights as Peter tried to corner it. She stared wide-eyed as she saw what could only be thought as impossible.

"Well, Elizabeth? Care to lend me a hand?"

She snapped back in attention as she surveyed the situation.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Get it in a corner so I can grab it!"

She positioned herself at one corner as the shadow hung onto the ceiling for dear life. Yet as she saw it bend down to dive to the other side of the room, Peter was up there, waiting for it, his eyes sparkling with determination. He grabbed the ankle of the shadow and as he grabbed more and more of it in midair, it crumpled like a garment that flew off of a clothespin. He landed on the floor with tha shadow in hand as his sister stared at them in disbelief.

"Great job Elizabeth! Now how do we keep this connected to me?"

She didn't know at first, but then had an epiphany. She told him to take off his shoes while she left and returned with something to stick the shadow back onto his feet.

It looked like a… bar of soap.

David cocked an eyebrow. "How is that going to help?"

"It's a trick soap bar," she said as she began rubbing it on David's feet. "Father had made some horrible practical jokes. One of them was this; a bar of soap that not only makes glue come out instead of actual soap, but it makes for an embarrassing turn of events when the person needs help to take his hands off of the soap. No one wanted to sell it; seemed too risky to give to little children. We kept some bars lying around, you know, just in case. Now, let's see if this will work."

She put the feet of the shadow in line with David's, then pushed them into place, overlapping the shadow already grown with the older version.

"Well, did it work?"

David cautiously sat up from the bed and tried it out by standing near the bright lights coming from the window.

"It worked!"

"How wonderful!"

Elizabeth clapped her hands in delight.

"Oh, and the only thing that could tear the glue is a good tug, so be careful."

He scoffed. "Okay, like that's ever going to happen."

He walked around a little more, getting used to having a shadow again, while Elizabeth noticed something glowing in the corner of her eye.

It was faint, but recognizable from the other lights around them. And it came from the…hilt of the dagger?

"That hilt is … glowing?" They both stared at it, sensing a greenish light shining through the bronze hilt, more in some places than others. David gently picked it up and examined it. Even though the dagger was old and showed years of dullness, there definitely was a glow.

"David," Elizabeth came in close, their faces almost touching. "What's causing it to glow like that?"

"I don't know," David looked at it with determination. "But there's only one way to find out."


	22. Chapter 22

Still it piqued Peter's curiosity. As he examined the hilt, he noticed that there was room for the hilt to act like some sort of container, with a rusty jar sort of opening at the end. As Elizabeth stood over him, watching his every move like an eager child, he pried at the opening, twisting as hard as he could to open it up.

"Peter, what could possibly be in there?"

"I don't know. What do you think?"

"Maybe it's a key?"

He turned to her. "A key to what?"

She shrugged. "I…I don't really know."

He continued to struggle with the opening, until Elizabeth had another idea.

"Why not use some grease to help rid it of the rust. Come with me to the kitchen."

They snuck in with the utmost of caution, as the nanny slept nearby and the floors were already creaking as it was. Yet Elizabeth knew where to look, and after bringing a lamp to look into one of the cabinets, she found the glass jar full of candle oil. She beckoned him to put the jar over the sink as she slowly poured the oil over the lid, weakening the rust underneath. After trying herself, getting her hands dirtier than she's ever seen them, he twisted the lid as hard as he could…until it began to budge, to their satisfaction.

"Do be careful, Peter. We don't know what could be in there."

He slowly twisted the jar open and tilted out the contents, until he could see nothing but sand.

"That's it? Just sand?"

Peter was just as confused as her until he felt something bigger than that.

There, on his oily hand, was a tiny egg, no bigger than Peter's fingernail; it stuck onto Peter's fingertip, held fast by the sticky oil. He had an urge to drop it into the sink, a failed attempt at a treasure, until it began to give off a subtle glow. He knew that the little thing must be important, so after they cleaned up the room and Elizabeth went back to bed after such an adventure, he watched it like he would a little bird breaking out of its egg, until sleep finally got the courage to go into his head and pull it towards the closest place to lay down, mainly the pillow.

Yet it was by around daybreak that something happened. As the sun's rays glinted on the London skyline, the egg got bigger and bigger, until it was the size of a robin's egg. Then a fairy the size of Peter's fist broke open the shell and shook off pieces of her former abode before stretching her wings and inspecting herself. She didn't even notice the boy next to her that woke up due to the commotion and stared wide eyed at her. They both got a scare as they noticed each other.

…

It was a brightly colored flying being and wore a dress that reflected light like a pearl. Its wings morphed into the delicate wings of a hummingbird as it fluttered upwards, quickly gaining consciousness.

_It was a fairy._

Peter couldn't do anything but watch as he saw it wake up and take in its surroundings- including the boy staring it down. It immediately looked relaxed after realizing that it was saw a boy. To fairies, everyone is tall. To judge hostility is all in the face.

"Who are you?" It asked uncomfortably.

"Well, um, I'm Peter."

The fairy looked at him even more inquisitively. "How can you… understand me?!"

"You're speaking English, aren't you?"

"No, Mirkazian. But you seem to understand me. How can you understand me?"

As she thought about this wonderment, Peter noticed that she never even moved her mouth as she spoke. Then she snapped her little fingers together.

"Wait… Peter, are you…a magician?"

"Am I a magician? No, at least I don't think so."

Its wings turned from hummingbird to butterfly wings, and flew near his face, leaving a trail of disappearing dust in her tracks and filling the room with an incandescent glow. He noticed that its eyes frequently changed colors and that its red hair rippled an auburn glow from the temple downwards, like Sister Deborah's… That being thought, it did look like a girl…

"How did you find me?"

"I-I think you just hatched."

"I hatched? Are you sure?"

"I'm pretty sure. You were just an egg and it burst open. I could swear I saw that."

"Nah," It replied, crossing its arms. "You just woke me up. No big hatching. So, Peter, can you please tell me where I am? This sure doesn't look like Neverland."

"London- Wait, you've been to Neverland?!"

"Yes, of course. That's where I'm from, and where I was born too."

Peter stared at her with wide eyes covered in shock. So Neverland DID exist!

"So, where am I Peter? I don't remember the answer."

"Oh, uh, London, England, nowhere near Neverland I'm afraid."

"Oh," The Fairy replied. "I sure would like to be in Neverland. Is there any way of getting there?"

"I think you need to get to the star, Second to the Right."

"Right. This world has the star portal. There is another way to get there. After all-"

"There's always a way." They said that in unison, to the fairy's happy surprise.

"Are you a Pan?"

"A what?"

"A Pan. They are the only ones I know that would say such a thing. Well, are you?"

"Um, I don't know."

"How do you not know?"

"Well, I'm an orphan…"

"David, who are you talking to in their?"

His eyes widened in shock. _What time was it?_

She knocked twice before entering. In the second before Mother came in, the fairy swooped behind Peter, causing him to sit upright in bed. She peered in with a stern look on her face.

"David, sweetheart, you'll be late for school if you don't get out of bed and stop talking to yourself."

"But Mrs.-"

"_Mother_, David. I'm your Mother."

"Yes, Mother. Well, I wasn't talking to myself."

She gave him a look that could freeze water. "Well then, who on Earth were you talking to?"

"A fairy, Mother."

"A _what?!_"

He turned around to show her his new friend, before he looked behind and felt nothing but dust. He gulped quietly as Mother tapped her foot in impatience.

"David, I don't have patience for this. If you don't come down soon, certain measures will have to be taken. Now get dressed and come downstairs soon."

_How long is soon_?

She left quickly to go downstairs, and after the coast was clear, he turned behind curtly.

"Why did you do that for?"

She tumbled out from behind the headboards laughing head-over-heels.

"Why not? You were so funny back then. Also, grown-ups don't like fairies. They're too…unnatural."

"What do you mean?"

She rolled her eyes as she smoothed out the skeleton leaf that made up her whole gown.

"I mean grown-ups don't want to see us. They don't believe in fairies like children do. They kill us whenever one of them says 'I don't believe in…'" She shuttered at the thought, like it was an unmentionable thing to say.

"I don't believe in… you?"

She nodded profusely. "Yesyesyesyesyes that phrase, yes. And they have to mean it, but I wouldn't take the chance of saying that."

"Oh. So what's your name?"

"Excuse me? My name?"

"Yes. You never told me it."

"Oh," She gave a look as she fixed her ponytail. One strand continued down her left shoulder in an intricate braid. As she hesitated, he stared down the pants that itched his legs, willing them to become more comfortable.

"My name is Tinker Bell, Peter. Tinker Bell, but 'Tink' for short."

He stopped short of putting on his shirt, as if he finally realized something.

"Tinker Bell…I know that name…"

Her eyes widened in curiosity. "How do you know my name? Wait, which book do you know me from?"

He turned his head in confusion. "I never said anything about a book. How did you know about the book?"

They looked at each other, him with his pants in one leg, her with her hands at her hips.

"You're my human. You're my contact to the real world. You're Peter…Pan."

He raised an eyebrow in incredulous confusion. "What does that mean?"

She cleared her throat as he continued to get dressed, all while swooping around him.

"Every fairy has a really deep connection to a specific human, throughout generations, connecting to the world through their contact's thoughts and speech. I belonged to the 'Pan' family, and if your real name is Peter, then you must be Peter Pan."

...

This was one of, if not the most important, chapters of the book.

What did you think? More is on the way!

-Epic0n


	23. Chapter 23

It was a brightly colored flying being that wore a dress of a single skeleton leaf sprinkled with dew. Its wings morphed into the delicate wings of a hummingbird as it fluttered upwards, quickly gaining consciousness. Peter couldn't believe his eyes.

_It was a fairy._

Peter couldn't do anything but watch as he saw it wake up and take in its surroundings- including the boy staring it down. It immediately relaxed after realizing that it was saw a boy. To fairies, everyone is tall. To judge hostility is all in the face.

"Who are you?"

"Well, um, I'm Peter."

The fairy looked at him even more inquisitively. "Peter, huh? One question: How can you… understand me?"

"You're speaking English, aren't you?"

"No, Mirkazian. But you can understand me. How is that possible?"

As he recalled the absurdity of that statement, Peter noticed that she didn't move her mouth as she spoke.

Then she snapped her little fingers together, as if she had an epiphany.

"Wait… Peter, right? Are you…a magician?"

"Am I a magician? No, at least I don't think so."

Its wings turned from hummingbird to butterfly wings, and flew near his face, leaving a trail of golden dust in her tracks and filling the room with an incandescent glow. Its eyes frequently changed colors and its red hair rippled an auburn glow from the temple downwards, like Sister Deborah's… That being thought, it did look like a girl… like a younger version of her.

"Are you a girl fairy?"

"Yeah. How did you know? Oh, right, you know what they look like. How did you find me?"

"I-I think you just…hatched."

"I hatched? Are you sure?"

"I'm pretty sure. You were just an egg and it burst open. I could swear I saw that."

"Nah," She replied, crossing her arms. "You just woke me up. No big hatching. So, Peter, can you tell me where I am? This sure doesn't look like Neverland."

"London- Wait, you've been to Neverland?!"

"Yes, of course. That's where I'm from, and where I was born too."

Peter stared at her with wide eyes covered in shock. So Neverland DID exist!

"So, how far am I from Neverland?"

"Oh, nowhere near Neverland I'm afraid."

"Oh," The Fairy replied. "I sure would like to be there. Is there any way of getting there?"

"I think you need to get to the star, second to the right. At least that's all I remember."

"That's right. This world also has the star portal. I should've remembered that. There is another way to get there, though. After all-"

"There's always a way." They said in unison, to the fairy's happy surprise.

"Are you a Pan?"

"A what?"

"A Pan. They are the only ones I know that would say such a thing. Well, are you?"

"Um, I don't know."

"How do you not know?"

"Well, I'm an orphan…"

"David, who are you talking to in their?"

His eyes widened in shock. _What time was it?_

She knocked twice before entering. In the second before Mother came in, the fairy swooped behind Peter, causing him to sit upright in bed. She peered in with a stern look on her face.

"David, sweetheart, you'll be late for school if you don't get out of bed and stop talking to yourself."

"But Mrs.-"

"_Mother_, David. I'm your Mother."

"Yes, Mother. Well, I wasn't talking to myself."

She gave him a look that could freeze water. "Well then, who on Earth were you talking to?"

"A fairy, Mother."

"A _what?!_"

He turned around to show her his new friend, before he looked behind and felt nothing but dust. He gulped quietly as Mother tapped her foot in impatience.

"David, I don't have patience for this. If you don't come down soon, certain measures will have to be taken. Now get dressed and come downstairs."

She left quickly to go downstairs, and after the coast was clear, he turned behind abruptly to confront the mischievous fairy.

"Why'd you do that for?"

She tumbled out from behind the headboard laughing head-over-heels.

"Why not? You sounded like a silly fool. Also, grown-ups don't like fairies. They're too…unnatural."

"What do you mean?"

She rolled her eyes as she smoothed out her leaf gown.

"I mean grown-ups don't believe in fairies like children do. One of us drops down dead every time one of them says 'I don't believe in…'" She shuttered at the thought, like it was an unmentionable thing to say.

"I don't believe in… you?"

She nodded profusely. "Yesyes that phrase, yes. And they have to mean it too, but I wouldn't take the chance."

"Oh. So what's your name?"

"Excuse me? My name?"

"Yes. You never told me."

"Oh," She gave a look as she fixed her ponytail. One strand of her hair continued down her left shoulder in an intricate braid. As she hesitated, he stared down the pants that will soon itch his legs, willing them to somehow become more comfortable. She answered abruptly as he got up to put them on.

"My name is Tinker Bell, Peter. Tinker Bell, but 'Tink' for short."

He stopped short of getting dressed, as if he finally realized something.

"Tinker Bell…I know that name…"

Her eyes widened in curiosity. "How do you know my name? Wait, there's a story about me?"

He turned his head in confusion. "I never said anything about a book. How did you know about that?"

They looked at each other, him with his pants loose around his waist, her with her hands at her hips, a big smirk on her lips.

"You're my human companion. You're my contact to the real world. You're…Peter Pan."

He raised an eyebrow in disbelieving confusion. "What does that mean?"

As she swooped around him, she cleared her throat as he continued to get dressed.

"Every fairy has a really deep connection to a specific human, throughout generations, connecting to the world through their contact's thoughts and speech. I belong to the 'Pan' family, and if you're Peter, then you must be Peter _Pan_."

He paused as his whole life was changed. He thought he would have to find Peter Pan to get to Neverland. But that wasn't true at all; he WAS Peter Pan!

"So I'm the boy who will never grow up?"

"Yes, Peter. You told yourself that you didn't want to grow up at the time that the liquescent magicos matured in your system."

"Wait. _What_ was in me?"

She waved her hand at him. "Forget it. It's too complicated for now. What's important is that you will never grow up. Hence your wounds healing quicker, and your ability to get better from even the most dangerous sicknesses."

He never thought about that. He believed that the sickness was just weaker than usual. Then again, there was that feeling of confidence he used to feel often. And then the gold on his fingers when he escaped the orphanage. All those things did feel unusual…

It made so much sense now.

"That means that…"

"Yes Peter," She continued, as if reading his every thought. "You can fly too. And nothing can hurt you now. Nothing whatever." She smiled as the clarity sank in.

As he prepared to leave the room, he turned back to her to ask one more question.

"So why didn't my shadow grow back?"

She shrugged her bare shoulders. "I have no idea. Maybe your shadow is a different being that's just connected to you. My shadow never did that."

"DAVID, come downstairs NOW!"

As much as he was confident in himself then, he never felt such dread when he went downstairs to see his mother as angry as ever. Tinker Bell, meanwhile hid, inside one of his pockets.

"What on _Earth_ are you doing?! Elizabeth has been waiting for a while now! You will not break our family schedule! Now quickly take an apple and go!"

He usually felt ashamed to disobey a grown-up, but then things changed. To her concern, he nodded, replied with an indifferent "Yes, Mother," and ran outside, without an apple.

"Everything alright?" Elizabeth looked very concerned, her hair pin tugging at her curls. She noticed his happy demeanor and how out-of-place it was. He should have been more ashamed to face punishment.

"Yes, Elizabeth. Everything is quite…ripping." He never got to use that word, as he only heard it once during the play.

Suddenly, as the door closed on the two of them, forcing them out into the outside world, a little golden red head peeked out of his pocket.

"Is she gone?"

He turned down to the shining fairy as he felt wide eyes hover around the two of them.

"Yes, Tink. Everything is clear. You can come out now."

"_WHO ON EARTH IS THAT?!"_

Elizabeth was at a loss. She never knew that-

"Is that- Peter, is that a…a…?"

"What's her problem?" Tink stared at her, her head tilted in confusion. "Hasn't she ever seen a fairy before?"

"I guess she hasn't."

All Elizabeth heard was tiny bells ringing as the little glowing girl hovered around her face, taking in the face of the first human girl she contacted.

"_PETER_, what on _Earth _is…_that_?!"

"Oh, Elizabeth, don't be so dramatic. It's just a fairy. It came from the glowing hilt from last night. She hatched this morning."

Her eyes were as wide as possible, as was her mouth.

"_That _came out of the hilt?!"

"Yes, Elizabeth. Meet Tinker Bell, Tink for short."

"Pleasure to meet you, friend." The little being was so excited to meet someone new that she immediately hugged Elizabeth's face, covering it in flaky dust before she leapt off to return to Peter's shoulder.

"You had _that_ in the house?!"

"Yes. I couldn't leave her at home. I wouldn't want her spreading that much dust around."

His obliviousness to the impossibilities going on here scared her.

"Um, so, well… How are you going to bring that to school? The teacher will not allow it. Can't you just send it away?"

Tink looked shocked, as well as Peter.

"Elizabeth, don't say that! That's very offensive. To even suggest that I send her away? Absurd." He felt more confident the more he spoke satirically like the foolish grown-ups.

Yet she thought she insulted them. She pushed her hair back under her pin.

"I'm sorry. It's just that…I've never seen a real fairy before."

They were walking extremely slowly, regardless of how late they were. No one around them noticed anything shiny on the boy's shoulder.

"Father used to tell me stories about them before Mother started telling me stories about queens and kings. I never thought they were real, just in, well, fairy tales."

As they finally began to move towards the school, the boy and his fairy slowed down behind Elizabeth's speed walking.

"David…Peter, please keep up."

She began to notice that something else was wrong.

"Peter," She slowed down to meet the smiling, innocent face of her brother, the fairy crossed Indian-style on his shoulder.

"Is everything alright?"

He shook his head as he stared into her warm, concerned eyes.

"Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Peter?"

His lips curled into a mischievous grin.

"Would you like to come with me on an adventure?"

She stared at him in disbelief.

"And _miss school_?!"

"Of course. It's too boring there, but I don't know London like you do."

"I-I…Peter, that's absurd! We'll get in trouble!"

"Only if we're caught, Elizabeth. Any good gardens around here?"

"But what about school. It's so important!"

Peter gave her a look he learned from Tinker Bell.

"Who made you a grown-up all of a sudden?"

"Peter, I've always been like this."

"Not really. I didn't think you believed yourself when you said those things about reading. They sounded too much like your Mother."

She was flattered and shocked at the same time.

"I meant those things, Peter. They are very important to me?"

"Oh, alright. At least point out where the best gardens are around here."

She was at a loss for words. Peter caught on it almost immediately.

"Do you know any around London?"

"Well, I, don't really know my way around London, just how to get from my school and back."

"I don't understand. How could you love a place you don't even know anything about?"

She looked down in thought. He had a really good point… Why did she really love London?

"Because of Mother…"

"What?"

_She said that out loud?!_

"Nothing."

"What did you say, Elizabeth?"

"Nothing. Maybe one day away wouldn't hurt."

"So you'll come with me on an adventure?"

"Yes, Peter! Let's go! I think I know the best one near here. I hear that it's huge enough to get lost in for days."

PLEASE COMMENT WHAT YOU THINK! This was the hardest chapter to write so please R&amp;R!


	24. Chapter 24

The two of them ran off in the opposite direction of their schools, as far away as possible from the normal day they were supposed to have. He led her down the cobble-stoned streets, chasing the sun down one road then down the street with the most greenery in the window sills. The sun shone bright in the morning sky as they reached the entrance to the garden.

Kensington Park Gardens opened up even further as they passed through the brick arch on the northeast gate. They saw green as far as the eye can see, the trees in full blossom, the river glistening with the morning sun and the sky a complimentary blue. Neither of them ever saw anything like it, even to the point that they both considered it paradise on Earth. They slowly walked through it at the beginning, just taking the beauty in. Peter thought about how much that place looked like Neverland, while Elizabeth couldn't believe she would be in school instead of here. Yet children could only stare in awe for so long.

Peter looked around for another thing to do, and found two sticks. "I've got an idea of what to do." He picked them up and gave one to Elizabeth.

"Do you know how to swordfight?"

"Peter, are you serious? I'm a lady."

"So what?"

"So? Ladies don't fight, let alone with swords."

"Come on, I'll teach you a thing or two."

Yet she had seen so much impossibilities in one day; she saw a fairy, she was skipping school, now he wanted her to duel him? She just couldn't resist.

"Peter, you're crazy, you know that?"

"I've already known that." He smiled as she took the long stick from him.

"Okay so first you must bow. Okay good. Now you hold the sword like this, using your sword with your stronger hand. Oh, I didn't know you were a lefty. Oh, you're not. Okay, now that you're standing well, you must be ready for anything…"

And so Peter began teaching a small lesson in sword fighting to a girl, who had barely any good reflexes, showing her what he learned from Ichabod rather than teaching her with words. Then they began to have small duels.

"YOU, BOY!"

They turned simultaneously. It was a man dressed in a… red cloak. Was that…?

"Why do you duel this young lady? Clearly your head must not be screwed in tight." He spoke in a Scottish tone while walking up to them strangely. He had very black hair, a strangely cut beard and warm eyes. It was the actor from the play, but to Elizabeth, he looked like a man who would reject the norms of London; then again, this was the day of impossibilities. Anything could happen now.

Peter caught the sarcasm and gladly replied in the same tone... "Yes, good sir, but I'm only training her. Don't you do that sort of thing in a public park?"

"Well, yes, but only on weekends, but that's not really important then is it? Might I say, if you fight a girl, why not take on a **real** dueler? I'll fight you like I did so many people before you."

"How many have you won, kind sir?" David picked up the ability to act on the fly.

"Many in every few."

"I see. You'd even bet your reputation on a small boy like myself?"

"No…Well, yes. Have at thee!" The man happily pulled out a wooden sword, but made the sound of a metal sword being unsheathed with his teeth.

They began to play fight, as Elizabeth watched with shocked eyes and Tinker Bell cheered him on while on her shoulder. They began to mock each other, almost to no end; some other onlookers laughed at their insults, as Elizabeth was shocked speechless.

Peter started the insults. "You dastardly pile of horse hair clippings, the end of my sword will meet yours and it won't be pretty for you!"

"Oh, will it," The man sneered in an over exaggerated tone. "You blithering rat-faced short man! You mop-haired midget! I will disarm you and take your stick and make a fire. Then I will roast something on it and not share it with you."

Peter gasped hysterically, as if anyone in history could take that insult seriously. "Well then, I won't invite you to my next dinner party!" They heard a crowd stir behind them, the small group of onlookers growing to cover the walk way. Elizabeth never felt more embarrassed of a family member that did anything in public.

The man did a pirouette while blocking a thrust, to the surprise of the crowd.

"Alright, I didn't want to go anyway."

They even knew to lock swords dramatically against each other, like they planned it somehow.

"By the way, my good opponent, what are we fighting about anyway?"

They heard the crowd laugh around them, Elizabeth cracked a smile on her face.

Peter never lost concentration, but put on a face as they pushed each other back. "Well, um…For the stake of land near the big pond, of course! That's where all the… truffles are!" He heard about those weird looking mushrooms from Johnny.

"Ah, I see. You want to sell them and make a fortune!" They came back together into the clashing.

"No, of course not! My plan was to… um… to-"

The man smirked with ridiculousness, his beard following as if a side character. "To…have the best dinner party of the 20th century? That's the most absurd plan I've ever heard of."

"So why do _you_ want the land so badly?" They continued to clash with their sticks, now held as sharpened swords in their hands. (While it was a comedy, all an actor has to do is say a few lines in character to feel that world come to life.)

"Well, I want the truffles to sell them and make money!"

"That's ridiculous!" Peter's parry was very impressive, especially after learning it a few days ago.

"You know what's more ridiculous? Why people go to great lengths to get one! Have you ever had one?"

"No. What do they taste like?"

"Like potatoes. Really expensive lumps of potatoes."

The crowd laughed hysterically, even Elizabeth. At that point the actor felt that was the best joke possible, so he stopped and decided to call it a draw. Their audience applauded their effort and jest. Elizabeth was so impressed with Peter that she gave him a hug around his sweaty neck. Tinker bell hid in his trouser pocket.

"Well done, young lad! I've face far bigger opponents, but none quite like yourself. You did a good job, you did. Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Yes, Peter," Elizabeth concurred, her arm still over his thin shoulder. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"From a friend of mine at the…Orphanage. You fought well too Sir."

"Please, I learned that while becoming an actor back in Scotland."

"I thought you were going to say they tasted like a fungus."

"I know. But that's the hilarity of it. Something spontaneous is always fun around a willing audience."

"So you're an actor?" Elizabeth asked as they walked on the pathway, through stares by other gentlemen of the swordsman's loud outfit.

"Why yes I am. In fact I'm in a new production by the marketplace. It's for _Peter Pan_, if your parents let."

"Oh, no. My parents wouldn't."

"And why so, young lady?" The man looked at the two of them standing together, in their school uniforms, and wondered why they weren't at school.

"Because they are very stiff-upper class. They only go to theatres for plays, not to markets for their plays."

"Well then, have you seen a play before?"

"Yes- well, no. I was never allowed to. My parents always went, and I never got to go."

"Would you like to see one in rehearsal?"

Normally she would say no. But today was the day of impossibilities, so she had no idea what to expect.

"Well, I just came out to the garden to get some fresh air, so we can cut across the garden to get back there. On to it then."

"Wait a second sir, I have an idea."

Peter knelt down and started untying his shoes.

"Peter, why are you taking off of your shoes?"

"To feel the grass under my feet, of course. I haven't done that recently. You want to too?"

As he tied the pair of shoes together to sling over his shoulder, she shook her head. No way, she thought. Her mother would never approve of it. How would she be able to explain the dirty stockings, shoes and blouse?

But she would understand, right? Today was just different, just more…impossible. She would understand. This was the day she got to feel like a child again. She was going to take as much advantage as possible. After all, this was a very special occasion…

She kept telling herself all those things as she slipped off her shoes and used her stockings to tie them over her shoulder. The grass tickled her feet as she felt each blade underfoot. It was a sensation she would never forget.

As he got used to the feeling of walking barefoot again, he turned to her with a sly smirk.

"Race you to the entrance of the gardens, Elizabeth?"

Oh, no. I don't think Mother would allow _that_…

But Mother wasn't here, was she?

"I accept that challenge, Peter. Ready?"

They lined up at an imaginary line in the field. The actor was at a loss for words.

"Steady?" They both got ready to sprint across the long stretch of green ahead of them.

"Here we go…"

"GO!"

They both took off towards the main gate, their bodies willing them forward. Yet as they ran, his thin legs were pounding so fast that they looked like they barely touched the ground. The grass became an ocean and the sky turned into a road where the clouds lazily drifted along. To her, there was never a better day to feel alive, the sun warming her face, her newest, and best, friend racing alongside her, a glowing companion fluttering between the two of them.

To her legs' relief, they reached the metal gate soon after they took off, but after she enjoyed the sensation of running so fast. She didn't even care that Peter beat her to the entrance. What surprised her, however, was how quick it took for the actor to catch up to them.

"The art (gasp) of acting requires (gasp) good lungs. You must be excited to join me at the theatre."

"Oh we are, Sir," She replied as she sat on the ground. "We are. I just have to catch my breath."

"Oh Eliza," Peter retorted. "You'll be fine when you walk again. Let's go."

She reluctantly got up again and joined Peter and the actor as they left the garden towards the marketplace.

"By the way, Sir. What is your name? We never caught it."

"Oh. Where are my manners? My name is Tony Munroe, from Chelsea. Learned about theatre when my family moved to Scotland and joined a traveling artists group and stayed with them ever since."

They noticed that his accent changed and that he said a lot more than she asked him. But they disregarded it as they all walked together to their theatre without a care in the world.


	25. Chapter 25

The marketplace felt so familiar to Peter that it felt like he was meeting an old friend again. The tightly packed streets had a sort of comforting feel to them, even with the cafes sprawling out to cover the whole sidewalk. They walked together in the middle of the street, not as packed is it usually is on a normal weekday , spread out like they were walking in a horizontal line. It didn't take long for Peter's stomach to rumble from the sight of seeing the usual places where he and his friends used to steal from. So he slipped away for a moment and returned with an apple, freshly off the crate.

"Peter, where did you get an apple?"

"From one of the crates. Why, you want one?

"No. That's stealing."

"It's not stealing when you're hungry, Elizabeth. I haven't eaten all day. I can get you one if you'd like."

As they walked together, Peter chomped away at the fruit while Elizabeth heard her stomach growl unbearably. Finally, she gave in and asked for Peter's help.

"Just in time too. We were about to pass the food section of the marketplace."

And with one hand, he slipped around one of the crates, plucked out a bright red apple and tossed it to her before the seller could say "What just happened?"

She stared at the apple, as if she couldn't believe that it was in her hand.

"You could steal a fish from a bird's mouth, Peter. Whoa."

He chuckled at the flattery as they moved onwards.

The actor turned to the two children as if he awoke from a daze.

"Sorry, but I had been going over my lines, I am the one who plays the villain after all. It's got the second most lines in the play."

"Who's got more," Elizabeth asked in a reflex.

"Peter Pan, of course. He's got twice the amount as anyone else, I think."

"Where is this theatre, Tony?"

"Oh, well it's underneath a store down the street."

"A theatre in the marketplace? Why there?"

"Because it's cheap enough to give these poor chaps a show that only the richest people got before. The owner is a good man. He allows us to use his shop's basement to have a show for about 150 people. We needed to do a bit of renovation in order to house a play and those people without cramping them like sardines. How we found that area is a whole different story. See, we knew of a guy whose uncle owned the store, so we asked if we could do a production there. He gave us permission on the condition that out production was good enough to be there. Least to say it, we got the show running at full steam within months and we might even need a bigger stage soon. Hopefully it's just a bigger shop. I like the intimacy here. Anyways, here's the store. Watch your step."

The store that housed the stage more alive than the last time he was there, the shelves unprotected, store front lit up and the owner tipping his hat to the actor as they went down to the stage.

Conversely, the stage seemed deader, the production now in rehearsal until the next production, the stage covered in props and costumes waiting for the show to breathe life into them. The seats looked a lot colorful, the red paint contrasting the beige stage and blue ceiling. The other actors filled in from other entryways, as if converging for a meeting…

Which they were. Tony called the other actors into a circle at the center of the stage. Peter and Elizabeth were instructed to sit in the seats and just watch what they do, which they gladly obliged. The theatre seemed cooler than the world upstairs, without the heat of the stage lights.

"All right, settle down, the lot of ya. Thank you for coming back on such short notice. Now I know our show doesn't start for a few hours, but we need to do some more rehearsals. We cannot have a show like we did last night.

"Lost boys, you cannot- I can't stress it enough- CANNOT look bored on stage. It takes the audience out of the adventure and plops them back to reality. That is _never _a good thing. Then it's all a disaster. Never do that. Always look natural and never get bored on stage. I can count nothing more important than that.

"Pirates, fight like you mean it. Be scared of Peter when he's mentioned! Be excited for the bloodlust when you fight the Indians! Speaking of which…

"Tiger Lily, you need to keep your emotions exaggerated! Remember, Jas. Hook wants to kill you if you don't tell him where Peter Pan is! Be afraid and brave all at once! You know what to do. Speaking of which…

"Peter Pan. I cannot stress this enough for you, but speak _loudly and clearly_! It sounded like you were gargling marbles out there while drinking scotch whiskey. We want to hear everything so that the others don't mess up their cues! Don't mess up anyone else's cues!

"Now, remember, don't touch anyone else's props but yours. Stay in character and we shall go from the top. Afterwards, our new guests-" He pointed to Peter and Elizabeth – "Will give us feedback. I was going to make you all judges of yourselves but I thought it would be best to have an actual audience."

The two audience members blushed amidst awkward giggles.

"Alright, ladies and gents, any criticism for me?"

They all looked at each other and almost said in unison: "You talk too much!"

His eyes rolled as they shared a laugh.

"Alright, fellow thespians, let's get a show on the road. Places in fifteen!"

Elizabeth could barely hold in her excitement as the stage awoke and scrambled to get up in dramatic fashion, props and costumes moving around the stage like they were solving an intricate puzzle.

"Peter, I can't believe were going to see a show! They're putting on a whole show for us!"

Suddenly, Peter got really curious. The actors were walking into an entrance and coming out in full costume, like they completely changed themselves from caterpillars to theatrical butterflies. He wanted to know how they did that, so as Elizabeth whispered "Peter. Where are you going," he was already on his way backstage. No one stopped him from going through the door to the left, with his little fairy flying out onto his shoulder before dumping the excess dust away to let it dissolve in the cracks of the wood.

It was hectic back there. Fabrics from other worlds enveloped their bodies and turned them into the characters they played. They put on makeup like little girls would before going over their lines. Soon, the ragtag group of actors turned into pirates, Indians, children and a big dog.

One of them caught Peter's attention. It was a girl wearing red stockings, a tunic of skeleton leaves, a flute necklace, leather belt with a dagger in its sheath and the shoes of an elf. He held the flute necklace in his hand as he approached her, awed by the presence she gave in the entire backstage.

"Excuse me," he began after tapping her on the shoulder. "Are you Peter Pan?"

She turned to him with a wide smile, warm eyes, and her hands at her hips. "Why yes I am, kind sir. And you are?"

He smile-smirked. "Peter Pan."

She raised an eyebrow as she stayed in character.

"Prove it."

"Alright," He said as he took her position. While she was a head taller than him, he could feel taller than everyone else.

"How much do you believe in fairies?"

"Well, an awful lot. I've got my fairy waiting for me on stage."

"Well, I've got mine right…here."

As he waited for her, she wouldn't show up.

"Tink…"

He couldn't believe she was doing this again. Why whenever he was trying to show her off would she leave?

His faced grimaced with frustration. "Tink, if you don't come out now…"

But her curiosity got the best of her. She wanted to see his face, so she flew up in front of him to see what it looked like.

"You'll what? I'm dying to know…

"Peter? Uh, who's staring at me? Why is her name Peter Pan too?"

She turned around to see Peter Pan staring at her with wide eyes and mumblings that sounded like, "Fairies are real. That's a real fairy…"

Peter smirked again as he showed up his counterpart. "Glad to help you believe even more."

"Oy, kid! What are you doin' backstage? The shows about to start." One of the Indians was calling him to leave so he waved goodbye to "Peter Pan" before joining a concerned Elizabeth on the other side.

"Where were you? Everything okay?"

"Everything is fine, Elizabeth," he said as he relaxed into the chair next to her. "Just visiting backstage. No big deal. Hey, the lights are dimming."

Places in 1 minute! Let's go people! On with the show! Reader, on stage."

He announced himself onto the stage as the rest of the cast stood backstage at the ready. He was even wearing the funny blue hat that Peter remembered.

"…Tonight we shall hope to inspire you to imagine and amaze you all at once. Thank you fellow thespians and enjoy the show."


	26. Chapter 26

When Elizabeth was a little girl, her favorite stories were of the little Princess from Norwood. Her father would tuck her into bed, tight inside the thin covers, and spin a tale about the Princess with the shiny tiara, red with rubies and blue with sapphires, and the scepter of gold. She traveled all over the world -fighting robbers in France, finding treasure at the bottom of the River Thames and discovered new lands untouched by man- and brought the Father and Daughter along. The two of them would continue to weave more of a story that it circled them in a warm embrace, each part containing all sorts of impossibilities. She never wanted the stories to end. Then her Mother came in, her angelic presence filling up the room with her grace, and begged her Father to finish the story. Yet almost every time, she would sit in and hear the rest of the story and even add in a part or two. They all sat together in her lamp-lit room, far away from London and its fancy parties. Far away from the manner schools and storm clouds.

From the moment the play began, she recalled those stories as she saw the children play pirates in the nursery, clashing wooden swords with paper hats and the twinkle of imagination in their eyes. She missed having that imagination and the ability to tell whatever story she wanted.

The stories ended when they all moved to London. She wasn't allowed to protest the decision. It was the first time she teared up in the sort of sadness that can't be assuaged with a lollipop or a hug. It was also the first time she forced herself to keep her sadness to herself- after all, her perfect Mother never cried, Father never cried, why should she?

While Peter focused on his counterpart on stage, her eyes were on the Darlings- Wendy, the assertive and confident lady-to-be, John, the brown haired boy with the overactive imagination, and Michael, the tiny child with the bear companion. She observed the three of them and how they encountered all of the impossibilities of the world around them. Yet the story was something far bigger than just them; an entire island, filled with Indians, Pirates and Lost children, was at stake.

Elizabeth slowly lost track on the children and saw the whole world open up. She turned to her blond haired, hazel-eyed friend as he stared unblinking at the stage in front of them and felt a rush of coolness come over her body. She had a new friend to share the story with and she was going to enjoy every bit of impossibility with him. After all, what was happening now should not have happened.

If it wasn't for Peter, Elizabeth would be in school studying for the next exam or passing notes to her friends. She would maybe dream about something as unbelievable as this but quickly disregard it as nothing close to reality. But this _was _reality, at least in the most surreal sense. She was sitting next to a boy who owned a fairy- one that sat on his shoulder as concentrated on the play as he was- who had lost his shadow and flew over the grass in Kensington Gardens. None of that would make sense if she told that to any of her friends, but this kind of story can only be shown, not told.

They didn't even stop for intermission as the Sun tipped farther down the afternoon sky. Yet they were too far down to notice as the Pirates found the burrow. She was so frightened of Peter Pan's end that she gripped Peter's hand in hers. He ignored it as Peter began to scold Tinker Bell for drinking his medicine.

Then they found out she was dying. Elizabeth was frightened to tears while Peter felt bad for the little light on stage. Tinker Bell looked like she was about to panic.

"Her light is growing faint," Peter solemnly said as he slowly turned to the three of them.

"And if it goes out, that means she is dead!" The boy's voice grew hoarse as he forced back sobs, like he saw Tinker Bell dying in front of him.

"Her voice…it's so low, I…I can scarcely tell what she is saying. She says…she thinks she could get well again if children believed in fairies!"

She leaned forward in attention. Did that mean she needed to believe in fairies again to help that little light?

"Do you believe in fairies? Say that you believe!"

They didn't even need to be prompted. Peter leapt up out of his chair.

"I BELIEVE IN FAIRIES! You do too, right Tink!"

"Of course I believe! How could I not believe my whole kind exists, you silly fool?!"

"Elizabeth," He turned to her, his light colored hair glowing off of the incandescent lights.

"Do you believe in fairies?"

She stopped for a second. All her life it was about looking forward; growing up, living in her own house, teaching her own children. Yet now, for just today, it all seemed too far off in the future to not care about something more urgent. She'll believe just for today. After all, what's life without one or two impossibilities mixed in?

"I do believe in fairies."

"I don't think she heard you, Eliza. Louder!"

"I do believe in fairies!"

"_Louder_!"

"_I believe in fairies!_"

"Now together! One, two, three!"

"I BELIEVE IN FAIRIES!"

The actor was so amazed at the two of them that she almost forgot that the clapping was unnecessary now. The light of the fairy glowed extra bright this time, to all of their delights. It flew around the room, only for it to be chased by a real one, the two lights shining around the room in a way that the stage would never see again.


	27. Chapter 27

They never sat back down. The two of them cheered on the main characters as they sent Hook- Tony- to the depths of the crocodile's mouth. Even as the story drew to a close, Elizabeth felt good about what had transpired at that point. She didn't feel like anything was taken away from who she was, rather something else was added.

As the show closed and the main actors took their bows, the two of them applauded even louder. Even Tinker Bell was unstoppable; she flew around the actors, covering them in the golden fairy dust as a token of appreciation.

Tony's voice blared over the otherwise quiet theatre.

"Well?! What did you think of our little play?"

"_Little_ play? Tony, that was MAGNIFICENT! Brilliant! A wonderful phenomenon!"

"It was fantastic, Sir! Very ripping!"

"Well, then my fellow thespians, we do have quite the show."

Some of them grumbled, "We already _had _a show, Tony."

"Well, excuse me. Any ways, I hope you tell your family about us. Will you be needing any way to get back home?"

"Yes actually. We don't know how we got here. What's the way to Notting Hill?"

"Well, that's a little far from here. Just make a left out of the market, a left at the end of the street, go across the road next to the gardens all the way and that should bring you home."

"Thank you once again for the show, my good man!"

"See you later, Tony!"

"Hope to see you around the theatre sometime, Elizabeth. Take care now!"

As they left the stage and made their way outside, the sun was taking its final glimpse of the skyline, painting the world in bright oranges and a dash of pink. That would usually look beautiful to the two of them, but now it struck fear into her. Panic set in as Elizabeth's heart pounded violently in her chest.

"Peter, it's so late! Oh, no! Mother is going to be so mad at us! We've got to get home _now_!"

She grabbed his wrist as the two of them took off through the darkening streets, their bare feet smacking the cobblestones. Her mother had strict rules on getting home on time, as it is not proper for a lady to be late when she gets home. While today was different than any other days before, some habits were just impossible for her to break.

Mrs. Robertson wasn't used to calling the police due such an emergency, so she waited too long to do so. Her precious daughter. Her perfect son. They weren't coming home. She had to get them home before her husband came home. So she went to the rotary phone in the living room and dialed the operator for the nearest station. Before long she was sobbing to a policeman at their door, jotting down notes about where they were last and their appearance.

"…She was dressed in a (outfit for young girls), white stockings and (type of shoes). She was even wearing her favorite tortoise pin in her hair."

"Anything else we should know, Madam?"

"Yes, Officer, she never did this before…"

"_Mother_!"

She turned to see her little girl running through the gate. She didn't even care that her shoes were over her shoulders.

"_ELIZABETH!"_

Tears moistened her eyes as she opened her embrace for her. Tinkerbell hid in his pocket again as he jogged in behind her, squeezing himself into their embrace. Yet there didn't seem to be room for him.

"Are those your children, M'lady?" The officer looked confused as he saw the reunion take place.

"Of course they are, Officer. Thank you."

The man stood there awkwardly, not really sure what to do once the family, now whole again, retired together into the house.


	28. Chapter 28

The moment after he heard her leave, Tinker Bell leapt out of his pocket and swirled around him like a fly.

"Now's our chance! Let's get out of here!"

He slowly picked up the dagger inside the nightstand's drawer and tied the hilt around his waist. This was it. He knew who he was. Now all he needed was to get out of here.

He was going to miss this place, but for him, it wasn't going to be easy.

He just needed to pass one final test.

He knew it just as much as she did. They looked behind him to the window on the other side of the bed. It was closed but one latch separated them from the rest of the world. He slipped across the bed and pulled the latch open. Next thing he knew, his feet were dangling out of the window, above the rose bushes surrounding the backyard. He turned back one last time at the door. He was going to miss this place, but only for a bit. He paused for a moment as he saw the sun's final colors paint the whole sky in pale oranges and pinks. He turned behind him to make sure no one was looking, and jumped.

If he was a Pan, he would be able to jump off of the two-story window and clear the skyline in one fowl swoop. As he primed himself for flight, he allowed the assurance flow through his veins, causing his fingertips to glow with twinkling particles of dust. He took a moment to take in the view of the sunset over London before tilting himself outward, only to tumble in midair…

And never touch the ground.

He didn't feel any momentum either, rather the sensation of being pulled around like he was on an invisible string up above. He did it! He was FLYING. No, he was SOARING!

As he cleared the house, he saw the world open up to him like never before. Chimneys so tall were like stepping stones, roofs like balance beams, walls like platforms to run down and switch direction midair. He dipped and wheeled through the air, between the houses and around big buildings, gliding close to the river Thames at lightning speeds. Not even the occasional passerby could see him against the dark waters.

As he flew across the sky, he saw a group of crows on a roof, and suddenly felt the urge to crow. He did, scattering the birds in the process as he sailed around the city, the lights twinkling like orange and white diamonds against the darkening sky. As he turned around, he noticed a familiar tall structure, sticking out of the skyline like a sore thumb built from stone and steel.

Of course! He could finally see the city from on top of the tower, the seeing eye of London's orphans. He proudly stood in front of it, hands at his hips, chest out and head held high, as he faced something he had feared not too long ago. As he turned around, he saw the whole of London sprawled out before his own eyes, the glowing lights giving life to the city as the night approached. He took the view in in a short amount of time before he jumped off the tower and dived down before rocketing up again...

Until he saw Kensington Gardens glow an unnatural green amongst the dark of night. Even Tink was confused by it at first, then she realized-

"Peter! It's the _fairies_! They're awake! We can visit them!"

She whooped as she clapped her hands gleefully.

"Peter, let's go! I don't want to miss them!"

The trek there was significantly shorter, as well as significantly more fascinating due to the lack of crowds on the street. As they landed in the Park, they noticed something different about it; it was glowing the same as Tinker Bell. Dozens of fairies, maybe hundreds, were frolicking through the trees and bushes, playing in the huge fields. That is, until they saw them. Then they ran away, scared like little children, until Tink beckoned them to come back.

"Please," She said. "It's the little boy from years ago! Remember?"

They all looked out from their hiding places as he stepped, his face lit up by another fairy.

"Hello, my name is Peter Pan" He smiled at the sound of that. He even stood like he did before, hands on hips and head high.

"Peter _Pan_?"

"Is it really him? The same baby that left here so long ago?"

"He does have the same eyes."

"Does he understand us?"

Peter turned to an elderly fairy to his left.

"Yes, to whomever said that, I understand you. I can understand you all, actually."

There was a loud murmur amongst them, the different bright colors swirling in front of him.

Then they came closer, and the fairies, old and new, couldn't believe what they saw. But they kept mentioning a baby that looked like him…

"Tink, why do they recognize me? I don't understand."

"You were here before, Peter. I can see your memories, remember?"

David's eyes opened wide. "What …do you mean? I've only been here once, never before. The Nuns said I only came from here, since I was a baby…"

"Well, it's quite simple," said the Queen, who walked through the rows of fairies like it was dry land between two sides of a river. Her skeleton leaf glowed with a bioluminescence, pulsing through to her body and coloring her light in a keleidascope of colors.

"You see, this boy found us before he had memory -before he knew the idea of changing- as a newborn. He was only days old, so he still had his wings. You thought our little island was your home, so you wanted to settle and even marry a lost girl you found here. We didn't know this at first, but we realized that since you were left in an orphanage, you were always trying to find your place. Since your adoptive mother gave up on you and took in another, you've been trying to rid yourself of that other world you were thrown into, yet the young Nun that found you here- she was willing to go into the Maze to find you.

"And she did. She came back to find you, and succeeded. And you know what? She found you while you were crying. Only her cooing calmed you down."

It all made sense to him now. "So that's why they never let me leave the orphanage. They thought I'd run away if I left… which I kind of did anyway. It's making sense now, but you're Majesty?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"Who raises the lost children?"

"We do, in a partnership with a small tribe of red-faces. In fact, some of our own are raising six right now, but they need a father, Peter Pan.

"Now, in order to be a father, you will need to protect them. Have you brought a weapon?"

Peter put his hand to the hilt and pulled out his dagger. Even after all it had been through, it still looked small and weak compared to the other swords he had encountered before. Yet as he looked it over again, Tinker Bell seemed to gravitate towards a certain part of the hilt.

"I see that that dagger is Mirkazian. Ah, when your fairy activates it, it will be beautiful."

Peter looked puzzled at the Queen. "What do you mean?"

Queen Mabs floated gracefully to the hilt, covered by the glass jar.

"Take out this jar and beckon Tinker Bell inside. When her dust touches the inside of the hilt, it will react and wake up."

"Wake up? How on _Earth _could it do that?"

"You'll see. Do it."

He looked back at the sword cautiously, as if it would attack him if he did those instructions. Yet he did it anyway, with the idea in his head that he had nothing to lose, pulling out the thin jar and found the wood inside looking much younger than it did outside. Tinker Bell went inside to investigate, but only found her own curiosity piqued.

"Peter," She called out to him. "Get ready to wake up the sword!"

The moment her fairy dust touched a spot inside the hilt, it shuttered as the rusted metals shed away to reveal a layer of brilliant shine and longer blade. He watched in awe as the hilt reformed like it was a living organism, while the blade extended to reveal extra intricate markings. Tink flew to his shoulder as he stood in shock. They looked similar to those on the walls in his dreams.

"It's Mirkazian," She told him, as if intercepting his question.

"'**_Swish and flutter, par and glide; the strength of legend is on your side_**'. That's beautiful."

"Why does it have it on there?"

"Well, all fairy things have markings on them, to inspire the owner. This one in particular is one used by the Pans, David. It's called the 'Glider'."

And what a glider it was. It was strong but lightweight. Yet it still fit into the hilt, even though it looked much bigger than it.

Meanwhile, not too far away from the garden, a Mother found her child missing, a perfect son lost to the world outside. Being as it were, her husband convinced her that David was long gone and that they needn't call the authorities on an orphan. So as the family recovered from the whirlwind events that they encountered, the Nanny, sent to clean up his room of his things, decided to close the window shut. Yet to her, that wasn't enough this time. So she locked it shut from the inside with metal bars inside the window, preventing him from returning if he so desired.


	29. Chapter 29

He never even noticed her by the garden after she saw the mysterious glow behind the metal fence.

As Peter and the fairies stared in awe at the newborn sword, some of the fairies dispersed away from the fence. They all felt like someone was there, like someone from the outside was looking on as they met in secret.

"Someone's here! An outsider!"

"It's someone else!"

"Quick! Scatter away."

"We must hide, Peter. Farewell, and see you in Neverland!"

He stood there and watched them all disappear into the night, like fireflies at the sight of the sun.

_See you in Neverland…_

The two of them stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do. Who was scaring away all of the fairies?

"_Peter! _Over here!"

_Elizabeth?! What was she doing here?!_

He couldn't believe it was her. He raced to fence only to see her gripping the bars tightly.

"What are you doing here? You scared away all of the fairies!"

Her head fell. "I'm sorry, Peter. It's just that… that…"

"That what?"

She looked up at him with teary eyes. "Today was the best, most impossible day of my life. I didn't want it to end yet. Not without you."

As he cleared the fence and met her on the other side, he heard her say how she wanted an adventure combined with the Queen's last words to him.

_See you in Neverland…_

Then he had an idea. Tinker Bell goaded him on, nodding her head excessively about it.

"Elizabeth, would you like to join me on one more adventure?"

Her eyes grew as wide as her smile. "Yes, please! Where will we go?"

He pointed with his finger. "Up there."

"The sky? How?"

He smirked at her. "The same way Peter Pan got there."

She looked concerned more than curious.

"How do you know how to fly?"

"Well, it's simple really, at least for me. Watch."

So in front of her he wiggled his shoulders, let the confidence flow through him and he gently began to float off of the ground. She couldn't believe her eyes, seeing a miracle like that occur. He levitated a foot above the ground before landing safely on his feet.

"You can fly…You can fly!"

"I know! _I can fly_. You can too. Try it."

"Oh, Peter. I can't."

"Yes you can. You just need…some things."

"What things?"

"Well… Yes, Tink?" The little fairy whispered the things in his ear. Elizabeth didn't understand though; she only heard little bells.

As he heard them, he felt like puzzle pieces were falling into place. It made so much sense.

"You need… a lovely thought. Like a happy one."

_There's always a way._

"Alright."

"And…" His eyes widened as Tinker Bell told him what else to do.

"What else, Peter?"

"This." He raised his open palm towards her and blew on it, his breath carrying the golden dust from his fingertips to her face. She didn't expect to get hit full-force with a pile of fairy dust.

"Now, just wiggle your shoulders, relax and-"

As he said that, she relaxed and felt a tug pull her off of the ground- except that Peter was a foot away and wasn't strong enough to lift a girl that high.

"Oh, Peter! Help! What's _happening_?!" As she floated farther away from his smiling face, she couldn't help but stay calm as she drifted farther away like an untethered balloon.

"Ha-ha, you're flying! Yes, it worked!"

He flew up to meet her in the air, the two children sharing glances of belief and disbelief at each other.

"Now, follow me. Let yourself fly and you will!"

He rocketed up in the sky, above the skyline once again, as she caught up with him eventually. Then the two of them shared another laugh before doing only what children could do when given the chance to fly.

They flew together like two awkward looking birds. They dipped and soared as their happiness caused them to laugh and scream loudly in delight. They flew near the River Thames, over the rooftops, through the low-lying clouds and over the London skyline.

Then Peter led her to the huge clock tower. He landed first and caught her before she fell off the brick ledge. Elizabeth didn't even care about how high they were over the city.

"This is your favorite city, huh? Look at the view!"

Elizabeth stared in shock and awe at the city now sprawled out before her. To her, it was massive; the bright lights from the streets and houses gave off dim glows that seem to give the city new life in the dead of night.

"Oh Peter, it's beautiful. The most beautiful thing in the whole world."

"I'm glad you like it Elizabeth."

"This is something I could never have done by myself."

There they sat, legs over the ledge, and shared a pause. Tink even decided to sit between them and even put her head down on Elizabeth's leg. When she shared in David's happiness, she fell asleep.

Elizabeth looked over at Tinker Bell, the little shining fairy, asleep on her leg, and shared David's smile.

"You know," David whispered. "Fairies only sleep when they're truly happy."

They looked at each other again, back at the little fairy, then back at the world that was now at their feet.

…

Meanwhile, high above the clouds, a ship approached. Its darkened hull passed through the celestial portal and righted itself before it got caught in Earth's gravity, the transparent afterburners bringing the ship to a slow and steady pace. Captain Hook was not looking forward to this journey. He was sick of waiting for his lousy assistant to bring that boy to him. Yet he always resolved to bring the boy to his death himself, all while in good form. This method, while being in the best form, was tedious and nerve-racking. He deserved more than to wait for a boy to be brought to him. As the ship turned towards the London skyline, far away from the Palace and the navy yards, he noticed odd movements near the clock tower.

"What on _Earth?!_" He whispered as he grabbed his telescope and aimed it towards the clock tower. Lo and behold, there were two unusual figures sitting on the edge, as well as a shiny object swirling around one of them.

Was that-?

No way!

It had to be.

Only that boy could have a fairy like that.

Only an alchemist would have a fairy.

_Only a Pan would have a fairy._

There he was!

He didn't have a moment to lose. He stormed out of the captain's quarters with a gleeful stride and a voice invigorated by opportunity, dressed in the finest scarlet coat.

"Avast, ye scum! Point to port and hoist the colors. Man your stations and be on the ready for arrival! We have a Pan to kill!" He couldn't believe his luck as the men followed his orders, bringing the ship down directly towards the unsuspecting children.


	30. Chapter 30

"So where do we go next, Peter?" She asked, already feeling bored from seeing the skyline for so long. Tinker Bell had even woke up after her quick nap and flew around them erratically.

"Up. To there." He pointed up towards the stars, his fingers finding his favorite star.

"Second to the Right. That's the name of the star."

"That's where we're going next?"

She sounded more concerned than curious. Peter didn't notice.

"Yep. And straight on 'till morning."

"Where does it go to?"

Peter turned to her with a big smile on his face.

"Neverland, of course. That's where I'm going."

"Is it connected to London?"

His smile dulled a bit.

"Why does it matter if it's near London?"

The dissonance could be heard in her voice as she tried to explain.

"Well, I…I don't want to leave London, Peter."

"Why don't you?"

"I don't know…I just…I…This is my home, Peter. I can't just leave it on a whim."

"Why not?"

"Because…it's not an easy thing to do for me. I like it here. I have my family, my friends, my school…I can't leave so soon."

After all, to her this was the _day _of impossibilities, not the _forever_ of impossibilities. She didn't have the confidence to leave.

Then Tink saw the huge brig barreling towards them.

"In that case," Peter said. "Let's go home."

"What?! Peter, you'd do that?"

"Yeah. Let's just go home so Tink and I can escape from the clutches of the ship coming towards us."

"What ship?! Where?"

He leapt up as he pointed towards the murky dark sky, the ships lanterns in plain sight.

"Oh my! Peter get out of here!"

"What?!"

"I know the way back home! Get away and I'll distract them."

"No! We're getting you home and we'll take a farther way there. This way!"

So they both ran off and jumped into the London skyline before rocketing into the sky in the other direction.

They didn't know that the ship could only see their fairy moving, so they followed wherever it went. The ship turned abruptly and began to follow them, full speed ahead.

They flew over the river Thames, as fast as possible, while Tink flew in front, lighting up the path with her eagle wings outstretched.

They passed into the interlacing maze of the streets of London, even splitting up between islands of buildings before coming back together.

Yet as the two children weaved through the streets, Tink noticed something unusual. The ship followed her. It didn't matter which child she followed, the ship followed her bright wings. Yet while she knew this information, she was still reborn yesterday, in terms of fairies as "newborn". Before she could do anything with this information, however, they were already home, far ahead of the ship that was chasing them.

"Go in through your window and I'll go through mine!" Elizabeth suggested. Peter complied and raced across the roof to the window in his room. Tinker Bell had flown inside with her, not him.

He didn't know it was locked out from the inside. He vainly pried at it, trying to open it to get back in. As he tried again and again, he remembered what his Mother had done.

_Certain measures will have to be taken._

She locked him out. She gave him up. She would never let him in again. How evil. How could she do something like that? He only wanted to have an adventure. To go out and live out who he had become. He imagined her laughing maniacally as she locked the window.

He[ZN1] would've imagine worse things if it wasn't for the looming ship stopping over the house, the menacing black hull blocking the sky overhead. He overheard the captain talk to his raspy boatswain.

"This is the right house, right Smee?" The captain had picked him up from the Orphanage, so he was still wearing part of his uniform.

"Yes, Captain. I saw the other children flee into it. Has the proper time come yet?"

_Was that Father Kenneth?_ Peter thought as he hid by the chimney, underneath the ship and away from view.

"It was the right time all night, Mr. Smee. It's now or never. We must kill him tonight. Send the anchor!"

"Aye, Captain!"

* * *

[ZN1]**Coast is clear as he goes back to the window, only to find it sealed shut. Feels what it's like to be locked out by a mother.**

**Then the ship comes down and captures Elizabeth- they find out immediately that she's a girl so they stay above the clouds, near the star, to catch Peter trying to save her. They take the ship at the river-which happens to be a Mirkazian ship that ignites when a certain phrase is said in the dialect. Ship goes up as distraction- Father said he would do whatever it took to get his daughter back. **REST IS HISTORY!


	31. Chapter 31

The anchor spooked the rest of the family awake as it dropped onto the front of the house with a huge _thud_. Somehow, no one else in the neighborhood seemed to notice it.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth came into her parent's bedroom, panicking as she heard the ship overhead.

"Elizabeth! What are you doing up? What's going on?!"

"Father, we're about to be attacked!"

"The parents looked at each other. She never talked like this.

Conversely, she didn't think they believed her, so she said it again.

"Really, we ARE! Look out the window!" As they looked out the window, they noticed the wood blocking out the rest of the sky. He could see the ship as plain as day.

Father only expected the worse, so he went into full General mode. He pocketed his trusty clock, loaded his gun, and ordered all of the windows on the first floor barricaded with furniture… all while the ship stayed above the house. Mother and Elizabeth immediately began closing the drapes and using firewood to lock the windows. Mother couldn't bear destroying some of the furniture for this.

"If you can hear me," Captain Hook began in a little speech he had prepared on the way there.

"Bring me the Pan, and no one gets hurt. You can resort to your regular lives when you give me what's rightfully mine.

"If you don't, you will all be killed, one by one, as the others watch. In case you were wondering, I don't take prisoners. Now choose."

Meanwhile, Tinker Bell was still with Elizabeth, trying frantically to prevent an invasion. Mother had already called the authorities, but they dismissed the case because "flying ships aren't real."

"Who's _Pan?!_" Father yelled out from the open window in the master bedroom.

"Why do you want him so badly?"

"He's lying, Captain," Smee whispered to the Captain. "I can hear it in his voice."

"No, Smee. He genuinely doesn't know. I'll tell him.

"The BOY, man! The one that came to the house! He's seeking refuge inside of your house! Send him out and we will leave your family alone!"

Peter heard the conversation from the other side of the house.

"You mean _David_? Yeah, he disappeared. Never came back. I would have seen him already. I only have a wife and daughter, please leave us alone!"

Even Elizabeth had stopped to hear what Father had been saying. She knew that Peter was somewhere up on the roof. After all, Tinker Bell was still there. What could she do? She couldn't dress like him; they would notice that she was a girl if she had Tink with her? She would just have to stay in the shadows. It might work…

While her mother was busy, she whispered to Tink her plan.

The fairy cocked her head in confusion, then shook her head in a way that said "I will NOT let you do that!"

'Please, I know the way around the streets here. I can run fast between the houses, I can distract them for you and Peter to escape. _Please_." Elizabeth gave her the most determined face she could muster.

The captain didn't really care that he didn't see the boy. He was sure that if he was a Pan, he would have found some sort of way to be cunning and hide somewhere, like the cowards the rest of the family was. A smile grew wider on his face as he didn't hear anything else come out of the man's mouth other than "please leave us alone" or "I don't want to fight."

"I don't hear anything, Smee. I guess they want to fight. Send the lines down."

Smee nodded. "Aye-aye Captain."

The Robertsons heard the pirates come down when their boots hit the roof. Mother shrieked as she saw then circle the house. They were out-gunned, out-numbered and hopeless. Then Elizabeth whistled for their attention- well, mostly for the pirates.

Then Tinker Bell flew up to the top of the ship, then back to Elizabeth to begin the distraction.

She unlocked the door and began running before anyone in the house could do anything.

"COME AND GET ME, YOU BIG, UGLY BRUTES!" She screamed it loud and clear, in the way that Peter spoke, and the pirates definitely heard it. To Peter and Mrs. Robertson's horror, they began running after her, the little fairy right behind her. Soon even the ship went into that direction, giving Peter the chance to go.

_But what about Tink? She would join him up there, as soon as Elizabeth snuck away._

So he gave one last final look at the house and flew over the rooftops.

He had only flown so far as to notice that the ship stopped moving, while hearing cries of victory. Tinker Bell raced back to him, with the words "They've got Elizabeth!" sprinting off of her lips.

"Oh no."

He heard them whooping and hollering as the ship turned upwards. He knew that the former boatswain to Blackbeard won't let her down easily. He doesn't take prisoners. He couldn't leave her to die. Plus, if he could hear the hollers from here, it must mean that there are many pirates on that ship. He needed a way to get them off before facing Hook and saving her.


	32. Chapter 32

The old ship tried its best to stay majestic as they reached the water's edge. Its sails were covered in holes and its brig was covered in barnacles.

"I recognize this ship," Tink said with a cocked head, eyes filled with intrigue.

"How do you recognize it?"

"I just know it. Follow me."

The plank was still on the ship, so Peter jumped across, leaving Mr. Robertson to stay on the lookout.

The interior was even worse, like it was abandoned in a hurry, the furniture left to rot, the carpets growing moss and the windows cracked and broken.

But the carpet looked sagged in one area. She knew a Mirkazian ship when she saw it, as she instructed Peter to open the carpet underneath the old table and head down the rickety stairs.

"This is definitely a Mirkazian ship?"

"Mirkazian?"

"The land where your family comes from. But this a ship from there. See, this is the engine room, where the ship can fly. All we need to do is find the phrase-key…"

"The _what_?!"

"The phrase that you need to say in order to activate the ship's systems. It should be scribbled somewhere near the boiler…"

She moved to the middle of the room and unfurled her condor wings, shining the most light around the room. He found the scribbles with more ease than he thought. Maybe it was because Tink was able to identify it through him…

"Okay, I found it."

"Great!"

"What does this mean?"

He stared at the scribbles like it was a whole other language. Tink flew to his side to translate. Her wings turned to butterfly wings as she processed it.

"Oh. It means 'to travel the worlds and all of their seas'. This must have been a cargo ship at some point. Just say it Peter and the systems will activate. I don't know if it will be fast but it will do.

"Alright. Ahem… "To travel the world and all of their seas.'"

Then they saw a faint blue light appear and disappear before the ship hummed to life. The lights Peter saw in his dreams started pulsing from where the blue light was before it lit up again, bathing the whole room in blue before he felt the ship elevate off of the water. They returned to the surface to see that the ship actually rose above the port, to Mr. Robertson's shock and awe.

"YES! Tink, it worked!"

"How on _Earth_ did you know to do that, Peter?"

"A little birdy told me," he said as he winked at Tink.

As soon as Mr. Robertson climbed up using a mooring line, they were above the port entirely and above the rooftops. Mr. Robertson took the wheel while David and Tink stayed in the crow's nest as they gained speed.

"How long until we get there?"

"Soon," Peter replied. The ship had to be above the cloud line. They had the advantage to create a sort of ambush, which is what Peter had hoped.

"Mr. Robertson, remember. Get the attention of the captain. I'm going ahead to scout my opponent."

Father nodded, and Peter leapt off and darted towards the _Jolly _Roger, while the ship gained speed. It moved faster and faster onto the speck of the Jolly Roger. It carried precious cargo that needed saving.

…

He unsheathed his own sword the second time tonight, sharpened to a deadly shine. Elizabeth picked up the one laid at her feet.

"Now, in a duel, the opponents must bow to each other. Go ahead," Captain Hook said maliciously.

So she did, bowing just her head.

"I…SAID… **_bow_**_!"_

A crewman hit below the back of the knee, causing Elizabeth to stumble forward on all fours, in an awkward bow.  
"Close enough," Hook said. "Now get into position and let's have a go."

Elizabeth got up and into the position Peter taught her.

Then he lunged at her, sword poised to swipe at her left side. She dived away, not even caring to make contact. The crew laughed at her.

"Oh, so you don't even know how to _swordfight_? What kind of a girl are you?" He laughed at the absurdity of that statement.

Somehow, she felt some confidence fill her up.

"Are you kidding? I've been in school for all my life. You expect them to teach me that?"

"No. Just to know how to duel. Shame they don't have that in general education."

The "anger" Elizabeth felt helped build up some confidence, but she was still scared of going anywhere near him, so she kept him at bay as much as she could. She moved constantly, swiveling away from every swipe of the sword, staying as unpredictable as she could. This frustrated the Captain even more, and he started to swipe his sword more angrily in spontaneous directions as well. Thankfully they all missed her, but she was getting tired. He was all the more energetic, and now Elizabeth was starting to feel a lot more afraid that instead of her head causing her trouble, it was going to be her body.

Finally, Elizabeth was exhausted, and fell on all fours as Hook loomed over her. She tried to keep her sword up to defend herself, but it was immediately swiped away. After many times, Elizabeth couldn't even hold up the heavy sword any longer. Captain Hook swiped one last time, knocked it clear across the bow, and then pointed it at her.

"Go ahead. Beg for mercy, stupid girl. I would love to see it."

So she did what she thought Peter would do; she spat on his shoe. He looked down condescendingly.

"Shame that you couldn't have civilized last words."

Suddenly, they all heard a gunshot. The crew was suddenly alert as if it was an alarm. Captain Hook looked up from his prey and walked to the other side of the bow. The sky was still, which tensed him even more.

"Who shot that? Speak!"

They looked at each other in dismay, while Elizabeth had a good feeling about it.

Then they all watched something unforgettable.

A massive brig smashed through the sea of clouds, blocking out the moon and casting a shadow over the whole ship. It turned sharply over the _Jolly Roger_, as if to cut it off, and rose suddenly over it as they all saw a silhouette of a person on the ship...

"**_Don't you DARE touch my daughter, you scum_**_!" _Father aimed the gun and shot.

And he hit his target; between the legs of the red-coated captain. This sent the crew, especially the Captain, into a frenzy.

He met some paranoid captains in his days of being in the Navy. They get paranoid if they knew anyone was really out to kill them. The best way to make the crew to go mad? Just attack the captain. He'll make them do anything, even what he wanted.

The ship turned wide, away from the _Roger_, and dove down underneath the clouds, only to circle back to the side where it had originally surfaced. But the crew was ready, by Captain's orders, and they latched the ship and drew it in. As some of the stronger men held the ropes, all of the others boarded the ship and searched for the crew, thirsty for blood.

…Which is exactly what they had anticipated. As the bows of the two ships met, Mr. Robertson hopped off onto the _Jolly Roger_. Hook saw this, and tried to yell to his crew to get of.

Then Tink told him the shut-off word, the universally known word that is rarely ever said by Mirkazian sailors, but only as a safety measure. He leapt off of the Jolly Roger, to the Captain's surprise and shouted:

"WE SURRENDER!"

The engine immediately shut off, and before anyone could say "It was a trap!" the ship –with the new crew- plummeted down through the clouds below. The men holding the ropes couldn't let go, and were pulled with it; Smee had been one of them, but had let go, only to collide with the rail on the edge and fall back unconscious.

It was a good few kilometers before they would hit the Atlantic Ocean, with absolutely no idea where they were. The Captain's power was destroyed in less than thirty seconds, with his ship only manned by him and an unconscious Smee; he had to act fast. Before The Robertsons reunited he ran towards the girl, in sheer desperation, grabbed her and thrust the blade of his sword to her neck.

"No! Elizabeth! That's my daughter, you vagabond! Give her to me!" '

"You get me back my crew! THEN you can have… Her!" For the first time that he could remember, he was outnumbered on his own ship and his boatswain was unconscious.

"You have no leverage, man. You're outnumbered on your own ship and Elizabeth's not who you're looking for!"

"Well then," Hook said, jabbing it closer to her throat. "Where…is…the…Pan?!"

Suddenly he felt a _plop; _a drop of spit had hit the top of the hilt. He let her go immediately and she rushed into her family's arms. He looked up but couldn't find the little boy who was so close to the mast he was invisible. But he was waiting for the perfect moment, just like his spit did. And he knew just what to say.

"I'm up here, you ridiculously dressed, foul-smelling, overgrown _codfish_!"

Hook looked _livid._

"_You. You're the pan!"_

"Hello, Hook! Miss me?"

Peter flipped down and drew his new dagger. The Glider was raring to go.

"Well done. T'was a good strategy to rid me of my crew," Hook scorned at him. "Now no one I know will see me kill you!"

"Kill me? You? You couldn't harm a dog if it bit you!"

Hook had enough; this was going to be as 'good form' as it will ever get. Only one problem; while Hook fought Elizabeth, Peter was watching from behind. He now knew enough about his moves to make himself unpredictable.

Hook charged Peter's left side. He swiped the sword away, and turned the momentum into a good uppercut into Hook's visible cheekbone. He was so shocked that he staggered away, barely holding his sword.

"Sorry, Hook. It must have been bad form."

Now Peter advanced on him. Their swords clanged, positions switched and momentums were started and stopped. The fight traveled across the whole ship, even up the stairs to the navigation wheel. The ship was now very close to the star, close enough for it to look like it was changing. It began to show an opening, as if there was a portal within it.

Peter was now on the bottom of the fight, his dagger being pushed back by the advancing opponent. Hook began to chuckle, while Peter somehow saw that their destination was getting so close. They were going into Neverland. It was time.

In one fluid motion, Peter found the strength to swipe Hook's sword away and knocked him aside. He could only hear the clacking of his shoes on the stairs as he rushed to the bow of the ship. He felt the wind blow through his clothes and hair, and when the ship reached the portal, he jumped up as high and as far as he could.

Father felt the storm coming. "Children, _Hang on to something!_"

But Peter saw calming winds. "Tink, **_HERE WE GO_**!"

...

That's it for the preview.

If you want to learn more about the book, check out my blog: theshiningjar with a period then blogspot then dot com. Also search "Second to the Right" under books on Facebook for up-to-date knowledge of the book.

For others, I'm also on GoFundMe if you want to help me bring the rest of the book to publication. You could get exclusive content and even some cool merch! Thank you so much for the support guys! Please share this story with others and get ready to see Second to the Right, G-d willing on eBook Marketplaces this August!


	33. UPDATE

I know this is a short part, but I just wanted to let you all know that the first few chapters have been completely renovated! Check them out when you get the chance.

HAVE A GREAT ENDING FOR 2016 AND AN EVEN BETTER BEGINNING OF 2017. SECOND TO THE RIGHT WILL RETURN IN FULL IN 2017, AS WELL AS IT'S SEQUEL, PETER PAN &amp; THE LOST! STAY TUNED FOR MORE!


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